


Another Dark Prince (Working Title)

by stix



Series: Dark Son AU [1]
Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Dark Son AU, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I will be adding more tags as this goes on, Mild Racism/Discrimination, Shenanigans, Storytelling, Swearing, barb is the ‘major character’ in one of the warnings, can i dub this as crack?, changelings do not deserve this, in which gunmar is out earlier and adopts lil jim, past stricklake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26569438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stix/pseuds/stix
Summary: Gunmar has been out of the Darklands for quite some time. The idea of the world potentially at his hands is oh, so close, but the rest of his army is still trapped. He can’t do anything but to remain unknown to those who know of him, as he is aided to try to get his powers from the Darklands. The ones involved are either alongside his plan, against it, or innocently oblivious.But after an accident caused by the Skullcrusher himself, everything changes. And it starts with a small, bright-eyed boy named Jim.In other words: everyone’s allegiances are questioned when the boy is entailed, and Gunmar has two sons now.(in other other words, the Dark Son AU! as an attempted fic)
Relationships: Barbara Lake & Jim Lake Jr., Barbara Lake/Walter Strickler | Stricklander (Past), Bular & Gunmar (Tales of Arcadia), Bular & Jim Lake Jr. (Tales of Arcadia), Gunmar & Jim Lake Jr (Tales of Arcadia), Jim Lake Jr. & Nomura (Tales of Arcadia), Jim Lake Jr. & Walter Strickler | Stricklander, Toby Domzalski & Jim Lake Jr., Walter Strickler | Stricklander & Nomura & Otto Scaarbach
Series: Dark Son AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932454
Comments: 72
Kudos: 169





	1. The Fateful Hour

**Author's Note:**

> if you know already of this dark son au, then you’d have more context to what would be happening! if not, feel free to check my dark son au tag on tumblr ( https://stix-n-bread.tumblr.com/tagged/dark-son-au ) if you’d like! there i had mostly posted some dopey comic scenarios and very recently have i been asked if i would ever write a fic for it, so here i am! :)
> 
> be warned that this would be far more heavier themed and angsty than my more lighthearted comics, or at least that is how i’m trying to write it in that way. i practically wrote this in the span of two days, so if there are any mistakes with spelling and grammar/general constructive crit/anything i need to add in the fic tags, please let me know!!
> 
> ( warning for this chapter, mentions of blood, injury, and implied major character death. )

Metal scraped against stone. Once, then again, and again, and repeated until the material shone silver and sharp. 

The  _ stone _ was the arm of a large, ashen creature, and metal being one of their dreadful swords. They lifted the sharpened weapon, tested its quality carefully in the limited light, and then threw the blade at the thick tree, which was one of many protections from the sun. The edge struck the bark and sank deep into the wood, but not clean enough. The wood parted in chips and splinters away where it met the metal.

Letting out a disappointed snarl, the figure trudged back for their weapon and went to sharpen it again.

The sound of foliage crackling that surely wasn’t because of the wind made the creature stand straight in alert, but not because it was unexpected. They recognized the certain way the sticks and twigs sounded when they broke. Turning head, the figure found themselves face to face with another dark creature.

This one growled in a way that would sound  _ amused _ , but it couldn’t be located in the outward scowl. 

Their only eye, sharp and small, had been watching the younger one for several moments now. “The quality of your blade’s  _ looks _ and performance does not account for the quality of it’s  _ work _ .”

At this, the one with the blade rolled their eyes, not bothering to hide the condescending reaction. That sounded like something  _ Stricklander _ would remark. All deities of whatever lives  _ forbid _ that his father would ever pick something up from  _ him _ . 

His father. Gunmar the Black, the Dark Underlord, Skullcrusher. What part of his dignity would ever turn to be like the  _ impure _ ? The mere thought was laughable. Maybe he was overthinking it.

Still, he paused the scraping and admired the mandible handle of the weapon instead. He would always heed to his father’s word without question, and he supposed he shouldn’t make this the exception. When he looked back at the ghastly form of the elder’s tar-colored body, he was once again reminded of how much he idolized the Dark Lord.

Gunmar’s need for power expressed from those around him along with the magical energy needed to make home in his stone, and Bular didn’t care when the Order reported him getting  _ weaker _ from the lack of living minerals, but rather he saw his father as getting stronger by the day. After all, how could Gunmar the Black feel weak in any and all ways? 

He believed— he  _ knew _ his father raised and taught him right through the deadliest forms of combat and attempted hardiness through his mindset and emotions. Bular always thought Gunmar was flawless in this way, a dictator who felt nothing less than the grisly spirits which drove him to his impending might against all-kind. Bular wanted desperately to look his father in the eye and proudly state he was like him to have never given away to sentiment.

But despite that… feelings have always seemed to escape him.

The pain he felt when he witnessed the almighty Skullcrusher, powerful with the world nearly at his hands, being dragged into a hell all that time ago because of a damned pretentious fleshbag sorcerer who let a mere troll play with a trinket.

For so, so long, Bular had been nothing.

It was centuries until he finally got his father back, how he could finally see and talk to him without only gazing at an outline under a bridge, barely out of sight and definitely out of reach. How it was easy to get the Trollhunter to open the bridge, to guarantee the safety of a friend— a loud six-eyed fool who begged not to do anything of the sort. But the bridge did not remain open for long, and only Gunmar, a five other soldiers, and Gunmar’s advisor (who looked  _ suspiciously _ similar to the loud six-eyed fool used as the bait) were the ones able to escape.

And, according to some of the changelings, because they sometimes  _ always _ brought it up, this had happened… thirty, forty? years, such a short time for his kind. And yet, so long in a fleshbag timeline. 

It was also nearly shocking how none of those who foiled their plan before hadn’t spotted the very few that had escaped, much less Gunmar. Though, just this once, he could give the changelings some credit. They were very good at covering tracks.

But, as also stated by them, covering some of their tracks would mean barely making  _ any _ to begin

Being discreet was never the Gumm-Gumms’ best quality. But according to the Order, the less others know about Gunmar’s, and the few selected others’, release on Earth, the better chance they were able to get the rest of his army back. The better chance to have everything else under their power.

Bular’s loyalty stayed true to his father, to the power that held them as above. Nothing would ever deter him from that fact.

Pointed fingers dug into his shoulder, interrupting his wicked thoughts. He turned his head to see the Underlord sporting a toothy grin, malice shining in that singular eye.

“It is close to dark, my Prince. Let us go  _ hunting _ , what say you?” 

The ashen Gumm-Gumm matched his father’s smirk with his nearly identical one. As he stepped away to let the other lead through the protective shadows, Bular stopped, held up his blade, and sliced through the tree’s previous wound with the utmost precision.

He inspected the gash, waiting as if he expected the plant to bleed, before grinning and shoving the sword back in its sheath behind him. He followed the elder.

Maybe they would encounter something interesting today.

  * ••



One lonesome car droned on the road under the warm toned sky.

From how the bright color was spread throughout most of the above, blanketing the few blues, and the yellow sun burning softly yet intensely in the midst of the horizon, one could take in the serene feel the scene portrayed. Such a pretty sight should mean the day would turn out as lovely as the warmth.

Only two occupants sat in the little teal vehicle, a woman at the front in the driver’s seat, with a kind, long face sporting hair the color of burnt umber tied behind her. She looked, and felt, tired, from the way she sloped while also pushing the glasses up her nose every time they slipped down so slightly. Behind her, but at the right seat, sat her son at about six years old. His black hair was short yet scuffled, not as neat as it was when he had it cut short for the first time. Blue eyes inherited from his mother were as bright and clear as day.  _ Depeche Mode _ currently sang softly from the quiet tuned radio, filling the car for background entertainment.

“Bit quiet there, kiddo.” The mother tilted her head to the child’s direction, while smartly keeping her eyes on the otherwise empty road. “Anything on your mind?”

It was true, the boy had chattered most of the way throughout the long car ride, excitedly speaking of the experiences they’d shared along the way to their true destination and then back. Now, his eyes stared out the window, nose pressed against the chilling glass. Not a peep was uttered from him in twenty minutes, the woman had just realized.

“The outside’s  _ really _ pretty,” Said the boy, after a few seconds. “Really  _ orange-y _ .” Barbara definitely saw it on her focused view, though at her son’s words she took a quick moment to admire the “ _ orange-y _ ” light of the sky before blinking away.

“It’s gorgeous,” She agreed, smiling as she tilted her head toward him again. “And it  _ is _ getting late. When we get home it’s going to be nighttime.”

_ Home _ was their town of Arcadia. They’ve visited the boy’s grandparents— her parents— well in New Jersey. A two day drive there, a three day stay, and expected was the soon end of another two days when they arrive to all their familiarity once it becomes dark.

“Can’t wait to see Toby again,” He grinned, then quickly reached for a brown pouch that sat in the other seat. “Mr. Strickler too, but Tobes especially. He’s gonna love these cool rocks!” At that, he loosened the drawstrings and picked through the contents of the little bag, which were bought from one of the small novelty roadside shops they’ve stopped by at one point of the trip. 

He chose one and held it at the window, comparing the stone with the warm sky. “The car— carnelian one is almost the same color as the sky right now.” He murmured. His mother didn’t look back, though she did take his word for it. He dropped the stone back in the bag and picked up another one. “The pink swirly one’s my favorite, though. It’s ro— rhoda… rhoso… kro?…”

Barbara chuckled at her son’s struggle to remember the name. Frankly, she didn’t know how it was pronounced either. “Do you think Toby would know how to say it?”

Instantly he stopped, and he wore a wide smile at the thought of his best friend. “Probably! Tobes’s an expert on this. He’s super smart,” He exclaimed, the obvious pride unmasked. His mother smiled and couldn’t help but to agree.

“I love you, Jim.”

“Love you too, Mom!” The next few minutes for Jim were spent by inspecting the different rocks silently, before putting them aside and reaching at the passenger’s seat pocket to read a culinary pamphlet of some sort.

Barbara looked at the focused boy through the rearview mirror, and smiled again. They were going to have a great time, once they get home.

•••

Another hour passed and their lone vehicle drove at the side of the small mountains that reside right near Arcadia. Pink shifted into purple at the painted sky, unusually clear and pretty around this part of the region. Little Jim leaned back, but his mother could clearly sense the glee radiating from his being.

“The big turn’s coming! I love that part!” The boy exclaimed, looking ahead to see the curve of the road where it seemingly disappeared at this angle of the mountain. Barbara chuckled in agreement, and rolled the steering wheel to follow the turn.

A lot of things then happened at once.

A giant silhouette darker than night itself stood in their expected way, but there was no time to closely observe it as the mother screeched along with the car’s wheels to stop, only to be knocked away and off the edge.

They were in the air for a second, before the impact was made in the dirt and rocks.

Barbara coughed, nearly choking on spit and, as she morbidly realized, blood. The wreckage was barely comprehensible, both in the fact that it even happened in the first place, and how it had ended up now. Her little teal car had flipped onto its top, up against a gigantic boulder, and her torso and above was hanging out of the broken window of her driver’s side, now on the rough soil and grass.

Glass from the window had pierced her midsection and head. Under her head she felt a painfully hard surface, another rock, she figured, but she felt it growing wetter and wetter—

With all her strength, her hand reached up to feel her temple, and then behind her head. Her hair had undone at some point, but the thick wetness she felt continually drenching it confirmed her dark suspicions 

All that knowledge gained from medical school would certainly be useful at this moment, if not for the woman frozen in place, unmoving as she witnessed the same gigantic figure that caused this mess crawling his lumbering form down closer,  _ closer _ to her. The only thing to discern from the mass to her blearing eyes were faint, glowing markings of blue. Another figure, nearly as big as the first, appeared shortly and followed the other, also ashen dark but there was nothing else about it she could clearly notice.

Anything she saw now as clear was turning blurry, even more so to someone  _ with _ glasses (which, she realized, were hanging off her face, seemingly unscathed as if to mock her for her current state).

There were noises coming from the dark figures as they neared, and she realized they were  _ voices _ , but speaking in a dialect she didn’t understand. All she knew was that they sounded, and  _ looked _ , dangerous.

Maybe they saw the tumble was not as immediately fatal as they thought, and had come to finish the job.

Both directly reached the side where she was splayed out through the broken window, and she noted how large,  _ incredibly _ large the two were, if the fact that the one with glowing carvings had towered her car on the road and knocked it down without trouble wasn’t already an indication to the fact. Sheltered under the trees and darkening sky, the only light came from that creature’s glow and the tiny blinking that indicated that the (failed) airbag had gone off.

The monster’s huge horns were wide and imposing, and she was reminded of how dark his onyx-colored… skin? was when she saw the first glimpse of him. Blue eyes met one blue eye, both completely different looking from each other.

The huge creature’s one-eyed gaze was searching, but seemed otherwise unaffected by what he had caused.

The curiousness was snuffed out by the impulsive words from the other dark beast, who spoke of something gruffly, but then his next words surprisingly came in a language Barbara  _ did _ understand, “This was not meant to happen.”

“No,” The one with glowing markings also started to speak in English. “But we will  _ not _ eat her.”

…So that  _ was _ an option. The woman shuddered. 

Bular said something else, but his father’s stern look stilled his words and had him duck. This was also a way of him doting on his son, as intense and dark as his expression might seem otherwise.

But Barbara still recognized the fondness coming from the tar colored creature, even as he glared to the other one with notable curling horns. The thought could be something induced from her head injury, but she thought she recognized something  _ familial _ to the way he did so. Like an adult to a child. A parent to a son.

“J— _ Jim _ ,” She breathed, and even that hurt, but it hurt more to think that she only just remembered her baby was also a victim of this terrible circumstance. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything, with how the two creatures turned their focus back to her, but she couldn’t reign back the fear for her son.

Her  _ son _ !

Her gaze managed to spot him also upside down, his seatbelt saviour holding and locking him in place. She thought she would see him terrified at the sight of the new creatures that stood at the side of the wrecked car. Instead, his eyes were closed, looking like he had been knocked out on impact.  _ Or _ , she thought, horrified,  _ worse _ .

Barbara hadn’t noticed the approaching claws until they took hold of the car’s door through the broken window and ripped it off, striking fear again at the mother. It was the creature with the glowing markings, and she saw him stare at the small mass that was her son. The creature dropped the door and reached toward the hanging child and ripped through the belt holding him up. He caught Jim’s form before he could topple on the broken glass-ridden dirt with a hand.

Seeing her beautiful boy now at the grasp of the creature, she momentarily forgot she was afraid.

Her bloody hand reached up to them, teeth clenched as she ignored the pain, but still couldn’t move. “Don’t you  _ dare _ hurt him…” She meant her tone to be loud and forceful and angry. It really came out more weakened and pained than ever.

And yet, the creature noticed the intensity of her preferred emotion right through her icy eyes. Her need to protect the smaller child was fierce, even with her life ebbing away.

The intention… was admirable.

His one, glowing eye darted to look back at the motionless child. Despite the red trailing from his forehead matting his dark hair, he was otherwise fine. Peaceful, even. 

“I will do no such thing,” The creature then answered, startling a reaction out of the other one, who blinked his ruby eyes at his father. It took a moment for Barbara to understand what he meant—  _ oh dear, she was already getting out of it _ —, but she looked surprised, which wasn’t surprising to the Gumm-Gumm. But he did surprise himself with how… unfeigned he felt when he said so.

He noted the older fleshbag clenching her teeth, perhaps realizing again of her own pain, or even to challenge him. Gunmar the Black, always telling the difference, spotted both.

“You’d… better not…” She heaved and wrought out a painful cough, but the look in her eyes remained strong. Seeing them again, the dark creature felt something loosen inside him. Not his hearts, no, his are cold and dark and practically nonexistent. But the loosening was there, and upon that, he made a decision.

“You have no time left,” He stated what he believed to be the truth, and he saw the fleshbag, as weak as she was, flinch at his bluntness. “But,” He adjusted the tiny child in a way that had him cradled in his rocky elbow, with the gentleness of all the worlds. “I will shelter him. Keep him breathing.” He didn’t say  _ care _ .

Her own breathing went more and more shallow. 

“Keep him safe?” Was that  _ her _ talking? …Was she really asking this beast to look after her child, after what he had done? She should feel affronted for daring to make such a request, something could be dearly wrong with her, other than the obvious. But besides the horrid gash on her head, she felt… fine. Okay with this. Comfortable? 

“You have my word.” The dark creature stared down at her, practically nothing could be detected from his firm, dangerous scowl, but there  _ was _ something lighter, something  _ less _ dangerous. Her boy stayed at his large crook, appearing right, and safe there. Even at the creature who started this mess.

She almost didn’t hear the shocked exclamation coming from the other dark monster, too focused on how peaceful her son looked now. 

“ _ I love you _ ,” She whispered hoarsely, quietly. Her Jim can’t hear her now, but she felt better knowing she had said so, one last time. To the one carrying him, she thanked.

Gunmar stared at Barbara, Barbara stared at Gunmar. The large creature then gave a growl and a nod, keeping the little fleshbag cradled in his hold, then turned and walked away. It would be fruitless to attempt to save the woman, but the decision to leave her alone instead of the thought of having her as a meal stuck with him as he left. 

Barbara watched him go.

Was she out of her own mind to be  _ okay _ with these creatures caring for her beautiful boy? She couldn’t think more on that now, however. Her boy would be safe, and that’s all that matters.

The other ashen creature stood behind, his posture and expression showing outrage. He looked back at the human, something intense burning in his bright yellow and red eyes as he glared at her, before huffing and went to turn after his father.

A  _ Fleetwood Mac  _ song had apparently played almost silently for the duration of the exchange. The last lyrics of the music droned, and then ended.

She felt her eyes droop, aware of the forever unconsciousness of her now fate. Barbara never wanted it to end like this, but wanting can only do so much. 

Strangely enough… she trusted the powerful creature, trusted his word, to protect her son. The blood continued to pool from and around her head, but she felt at  _ ease _ despite that, remembering the promise. 

Jim deserved so much. Silently, she was thankful he was carried away from here. He shouldn’t have to wake seeing his mother dying.

Right before her weakened eyes closed for the final time, she caught sight of the little brown drawstringed bag, spilling out the little stones her son regarded so dearly. Like her, they were broken, left behind in the wreckage, and forgotten.


	2. Awareness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Directly after the incident itself, we have different characters react to it in different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> managed posting another chapter a week after the first one! and it’s even sadder :)
> 
> ( chapter warning mentions blood and injury, mentions of harming children, and the sight and encounter with a dead character, if that also is required a warning. also crying, lots of crying. i’m crying as we speak )

Bular was sulking, staring ahead to spitefully gaze into his father’s direction as he walked well behind the Skullcrusher.

They hadn’t had any luck with their hunt, that much was obvious. As much as they had to rely on eating fleshbag-made stuffs and trash, while it  _ was _ delicious, it felt nice to  _ chase _ and consume something once living. Well into dusk, they did encounter a little deer which bolted away and toward a black road once it noticed the beasts. They lost sight of it even when they climbed up the steep slope at the side of the road to follow it, which had made the younger Gumm-Gumm let out a series of violent curses at the loss as they lingered. That was when the blue gyre-like machine appeared before them, and Gunmar had knocked it down the ledge to seemingly seal the fleshbag’s fates.

Only, here were they now, with one of the poor humans gone and the other cradled in the crook of the Underlord’s elbow. Not exactly how the trolls had expected the day to turn out.

“You have… a child in your arm,” Bular started, blunt and obvious. He looked at the back of his father’s head, and a greasy mane was all that met his eyes. “A  _ human _ child.”

He knew his father stated that they were not going to eat the other one at the crash, but surely they would not for this one as well? Its thin body didn’t even look much like a  _ meal _ . And who’d cradle a ‘meal’ like  _ that _ ? So… — it  _ must _ not be a real image to Bular, but—  _ tenderly _ ?

“I  _ know _ . Do you have any  _ other _ dim-witted questions, or would we have to wait to encounter one of the impures?”

Hearing Gunmar’s extremely demeaning and shameful remark should have at least sparked a chuckle from him, but nothing.

“But—“ Bular huffed again, hands splayed before him, even though the gesture went unnoticed by his father (who only kept his focus on the little fleshy child whilst walking on their path forward, which made the Prince feel a certain negative way). “I… just don’t understand it, Father.”

“What.” His father’s hard reply inducted a well concealed shiver of his rocky being, but Bular was willing to press on, stepping faster to be at his pace side by side.

“You killed that fleshbag. Someone… so  _ low _ . A being like  _ prey _ .” Bular tried to meet the greater troll’s eye, walking so he’s at the other’s side. “And… you gave them  _ your _ word.” A  _ promise _ .

“The fleshbag was a parent.”

Gunmar’s answer had his son freeze in place for two seconds, but then quickly caught up. “That… hasn’t stopped you before.”

This time the Skullcrusher did look at the other’s eyes, ruby and gold and questioning. His son, he knew, was right. No pleas of others of similar backgrounds have ever stalled him before. Gunmar had killed those who even begged to be spared, to go back and care for their families.

But, even with his terrible, malicious nature and reputation, Gunmar was never one to harm a child, or at least, not on purpose. Casualties have happened one way or another, but he would not ever do the deeds upon younglings directly. He could be known to have dark, corrupted hearts, even he regarded himself in that way, but never was he so soulless to do something so horribly. 

Families were ripped apart, it was what it was. A prominent example being of the event that had been the fleshbag parent’s demise.

Aware of his son’s continuing pouty attitude, Gunmar growled lightly but was again reminded of the tiny frame curled between his arm and chest. What exactly made  _ this _ instance different? 

Maybe it was because no one had ever asked to care for the children he caused the parents’ death of before. He dwelled on that thought, but again pushed on.

His son, seeing that he did not reply with anything else, only slumped his pose as they continued walking, but Gunmar did not notice the tautness of Bular’s shoulders as he glared at him from behind. Well, not directly at  _ him _ , of course, but at the arm still bent to hold the fleshbag up. Huffing began to be the Dark Prince’s prominent activity of the day, and he did it again.

Bular’s growing resentment towards the intruding child continued to bother himself, but there was more than just a normal looking-down-to on humans. 

What  _ else _ would he be feeling?  _ Envy _ ? 

Yet briefly, Bular tried to remember the last time he had been carried like that, close to his father’s comforting breast as he had been as a tiny whelp. 

But that was so long ago, and he shaken the memory away as quickly as it had entered. Bular was old, he didn’t need to be held. It must be something  _ other _ that explained his ire for the little fleshbag, held nearly tenderly at a place he once had been.

It was now completely dark. Stars twinkled and shone, the crescent moon being the most radiant of all, but Bular ignored the beauty of them. The two continued their trek, to a place where more trees began to cover them and the surrounding nature only started to become more rugged and dark. Their sharp glowing eyes, along with the Underlord’s vibrant markings, were the only lights that guided them through the foliage.

The Dark Prince let out a small growl as he pulled out a sword from his back, and proceeded to sharpen the edge again for the umpteenth time that day. He did so on his arm with softer, quiet grinding noises, as though to not try to wake the child if it was really sleeping instead of forcefully unconscious.

_ Not _ that he  _ cared _ . Still, the sharpening did not increase in volume.

•••

Strickler grew concerned with every passing minute that he hadn’t heard an answer from Barbara yet, via either answering his calls or texts. Not that he was excessive with sending them, but he had always gone a little protective of her and her son. They had gone on a trip to see Jim’s grandparents out of the state, and they should be close to heading back soon.

He knew the astute doctor for a long time— relative to humans, that was—, since they had become friends shortly after they met at a coffee shop, with her being engaged at the time. He didn’t exactly know James very well, but he always trusted the man that managed to have Barbara, a spectacular woman, at her side. Which made Strickler especially hateful to him when he upped and left the wonderful woman behind.

Ever since her husband walked out on her (while she was  _ pregnant _ , another reason why he wished to impale the bastard with his little knives), Strickler always tried to help Barbara in all the ways he could, up until the birth of her son, and even after. Beyond that time, he found that he favoured Barbara over his other friends and work ‘acquaintances’, and realized why. He and the woman finally started exchanging  _ I love you _ s by the time little Jim had started preschool.

From experience— not necessarily his  _ own— _ , it wasn’t a good idea for changelings to waver away at their tasks by feelings for another, especially for someone who presumingly was on the ‘other’ side. Infatuation made them, as he and his kindred were taught, weaker than their sorry selves already were.

Instead, his love for Barbara, and Jim, gave him  _ strength _ , and  _ hopes _ for things other than the typical changeling goals for survival. Strickler found himself a slightly different person since having the two in his life.

His fingers lingered by his pants pocket, wondering again if he should give her another call. He’d definitely apologize for the excessive times he ringed her up if she did finally pick up, maybe give him a firm talk how she and Jim were having way too much fun without  _ him _ in their lives, or that she didn’t need to be bothered by him while  _ she _ drove—

Then he lightly slapped his forehead with a palm. Well, of  _ course _ , she would be driving. Barbara would have no time to pick up his calls, and he knew she had sense not to answer the phone while she was at the wheel.

Yes, needless to say it was common sense, but it added onto the evidence of the intelligent nature of the doctor. Her intellect and wit was keen and bright, and he remembered always falling for her clever jokes and attempts at playful banter, and they’d often talk the day away, to night, and beyond. 

He let out a sigh, staring up to the stars. He planned to marry his love. Once she came home from the trip, he wasn’t going to drop directly to a knee, but rather talk and discuss the idea of courtship, so that she would really want them to be  _ them _ in the future.

After he’d give her that initial talk as desired, if she agreed, he’d then finally share his secret. At most, he’d only tell her  _ what _ he was, and then expose his true form right before her eyes. The plan itself sounded blunt and simple, but he could assure that the way it ran through his head was more complex, and he thought of ways and alternatives to however the end results would turn out, and how he would deal with them. 

Stricklander was a carefully tasked man, but he now wondered what he would do if she outright rejected him once he let out his stone skin. Or, more heart wrenchingly, if she did  _ once _ he brought up the idea.

He’d keep up a calm, trained mask, and say he understood. And in all honesty, he really would understand, but it wouldn’t take away the heartbreaks that might occur. But he truly did love her, and would respect her decision either way.

Then there was Jim himself. Strickler knew the child knew of the man being his mother’s romantic partner, if the fact that he openly expressed disgust whenever they shared quick kisses was any clue, but he did always notice Jim’s willingness to be close to him in many ways that made the changeling’s bitter heart melt, so Strickler now wondered how the boy would react to him if he was going to marry into the family one day.

Well, he did love the child nearly as much as he did Barbara, and he was certain that the feeling was mutual on the child’s part. …But  _ he _ rejected him?

He overlooked the cliff again, keeping his thoughts at the back of his mind. The city in the distance below was torched in warm, flickering lights. The sight was magnificent, and Strickler realized he had given into an opportunity of distraction. Then again, he’d been wavering to distractions moreso lately. For example, the dark sky above seemed cool and barely cloud-ridden. 

It seemed like perfect flying weather. The temptation to do so came like the itch upon his fingers, and it felt like his currently nonexistent wings were aching for the cathartic activity.

Many years ago, he wouldn’t try to risk it, but here he was now, a little older, yet not so in his changeling standard, stepping towards the imposing edge in his oxfords.

Before lifting his foot to potentially land it on air, he heard a snap, and his eyes grew wide at the familiar scents he suddenly picked up.

Strickler stumbled back as if he was caught, then straightened his composure, looking as calm as he was when he first arrived. Internally, he was fighting the excited tingle of his instincts to change forms. He’d find an excuse to stretch his wings later.

The strong Gumm-Gumm scents of his Lord and Prince started drifting away behind him, having him turn and head towards his dubbed superiors, down and into the forest. A lamppost was lit and left alone at the cliff’s clearing.

Strickler finally found the two black forms of the trolls camouflaged well in the night. If it weren’t for his sharp changeling eyes, they wouldn’t have been easy to spot.

For good measure, he quickly transformed into his stone form. The cape draped around his shoulders nicely, but he lightly regretted the choice when the cold air pressed on to the exposed green skin of his chest down until his skirt, and then on the length of his legs. He suppressed a shudder, deciding not to add confirmation to Nomura’s questioning of his fashion choice for this form. Besides, appearing as a troll always seemed like the best approach whenever nearing the Underlord. He believed he knew enough of how Gunmar thought of humans, anyway.

He trotted down the shrub-ridden path toward the tar-colored Gumm-Gumm in question, along with his son who trudged right behind his great father, and was he  _ moping _ ? 

Strickler cleared his throat and stood a well respectable distance away from the two, putting his focus on Gunmar himself. “My lord, what brings you over here so late? Even at dark, you know it’s best to be as far away from the human civilization unless with changeling escorts.”

Even with his calm, calculating words, Bular took offense to them. “Do not question my father,  _ Stricklander _ ,” He sneered. “For your information, we did not even come close to the  _ city _ today.”

Strickler chose not to openly marvel at how quickly the sullen mood of the Prince changed to offensive.

“Of course, I—“ The man started and stopped his apology, suddenly aware of the tiny clump held against Gunmar’s chest with his great elbow. His bright eyes flashed as a recognition to what the clump  _ was _ . It was out of his place to question his Lord in any outward way, as Bular had  _ graciously _ reminded him, but the Gumm-Gumm seemed less guarded than usual, so he held a cautious finger up as he took the risk, “... Why do you have a human child with you?”

Part of Strickler grimly wondered if the kid was to be taken to the Gumm-Gumms’ shed to be made a meal, but he shook the thought to the side. They hadn’t been so desperate to end and consume children, so why would they ever stop now? The horrid implication, however, still nagged on the green changeling’s mind.

Bular was the one who answered, his biting tone reduced back to a rather rough and moody one that matched his posture, his large blade stilling at the black rock of his arm. “We caused… what do you call— a  _ car _ crash. A dying fleshbag parent asked Father to take care of their son before we left them.” He lowered his voice, then muttering in his breath, “It was a rather  _ pathetic _ excuse.”

“Quiet, Son,” Gunmar gruffly reprimanded, and the changeling realized that was the first time he had said anything of now.

Strickler stared again at the small child’s face, which he could see even with it faced more at Gunmar’s chest. Blood spilled lightly and trailed down its face red covering the temple and soaking the hair, flecks of the dark color splattering the little one’s shirt and arms. He let out a breath through his slitted nostrils, certainly feeling sorry for the poor thing, and he let his stiff shoulders drop, saddened, his dark cape following him.

His keen glowing eyes then narrowed, and he dared to step closer to Gunmar as they walked, but it seemed that the Gumm-Gumm hadn’t noticed. “Why do they look… familiar?”

As if Strickler’s quiet words casted a spell, the child then roused and let out a pained groan. He saw that tears threatened to spill at the human’s eyes as they turned their bloody head, and they blinked several times. Then, their eyes grew wide at the sight of the changeling, giving Strickler a view at big, light oceanic eyes.

Eyes that Strickler recognized. Eyes that Strickler realized were the eyes of little, innocent Jim Lake, one who he considered as a dear  _ son _ .

Eyes inherited from Jim’s mother.

Strickler was stunned still, mouthing the child’s name. He stopped immediately in his tracks.

Jim’s mother…  _ Barbara _ .

Bular’s words about the crash rang in his head. About who was involved. That meant the  _ dying parent _ …  _ oh _ .

The boy— Jim only stared back at him, those beautiful eyes wide as he craned his head to stare back at the changeling. How innocent… Did he  _ know _ ?

The changeling could not—  _ would _ not believe it. For once, he trusted the Gumm-Gumm lord in keeping his word for this. Jim… was alright. For now. 

He lost sight of the young child when Gunmar turned slightly and walked into the forest, ultimately ignoring Strickler, with his son quickly following.

Strickler only stared at where the three had departed. First, he felt numb. Second, emotions rose up and filled the changeling to his stony core.

He thoughtlessly used his magic, and his wings appeared on his back. He did not dwell on how relieving it felt to have them freed again. He only spread them wide, and took to the air. 

He was fast when flying, especially for a being of his size, but if one were to look up in the star-ridden sky they would only briefly witness a blur of black before nothing.

_ Dying _ . Not  _ dead _ . He kept on telling himself this as he ignored the painful strain of his aching wings. Once he would find her, he’d save her, and he and Jim would be fine.  _ Dying _ .  _ Not _ dead.

Then, he thought he saw it. His great flight speed dove him towards the wrecked vehicle, dimming yellow and red from the lights of the car. Strickler dove down, ready but not ready to see what he feared and expected.

The car was upside down and propped in a way up a boulder. He landed, and it felt as if a sledgehammer had shattered his stone. Barbara was here.

Blood stained her light shirt where the sharp edges of the broken glass cut her midsection, and she was in the air except shoulders and head laying still on the ground. Her auburn hair seemed darker and was a mess, and her beautiful eyes were closed, and arms were limp and reaching out before her.

She looked  _ peaceful _ .

Strickler’s keen eyes searched his love’s form, trying to detect something,  _ anything _ to indicate her continuous being in the living time. But, nothing. Not even a twitch of a finger.

Barbara Lake was gone.

The normally collected man trembled as he shifted to his human form. He sank onto his knees and wrought out painful, desperate sobs. Barbara, his  _ Barbara _ , was  _ gone _ . His thin, long fingers clawed the grass. He coughed out severely after his nearly troll-like roars filled the landscape with his  _ hurt _ .

He stopped after a while, but he reached toward her, softly, carefully, as he went to turn her head to fix her hair, as if that would do anything. He instantly recoiled at the gruesome sight of the damage done at the back of her head, but he continued holding her, with shaking hands, tenderly until he faced her to him.

Her blood seemed black in the dark, as if to prove to him in another way that death had claimed the woman. Skin in an even paleness made her look even more hollow. He choked up another threatening sob.

His now stained hand gingerly pushed away a few stray hairs, the action so familiar, intimate, but it only wrought pain in his breast. An excuse, to see his Barbara’s wonderful face. To believe that there was hope yet for him, with how placid she looked, and never in pain.

He wanted nothing more than to pull his love’s corpse out of the window, so he could set her down gently, comfortably, as she deserved than with how she had suffered. He did not. He  _ wanted _ , but he did not. 

Walter Strickler stood up on aching knees— not only from him kneeling on the hard soil, he had drained himself intensely from his tears and emotional denials—, feeling empty. The surrounding light of the dim moon was elegant, beautiful even. Another way to emphasize the pain of the loss.

Emptiness and pain, the two feelings worked together well. Not well for anyone who was cursed to feel it.

Remembering the needed task, he fumbled more than needed around his pockets, until the desired object fell out of one.

His phone dropped down, and it was set with the screen up. With the bloodless tip of his pinkie, while he tried to prepare his aching throat, he tapped up a number, and waited.

Out of all the ways he wondered of outcomes and alternatives for his plans, Strickler had  _ never _ expected this.

•••

Jim saw the funny looking caped creature stare back at him until whatever that was carrying him moved its great mass where he couldn’t see the creature anymore. The only distinct feature he made out from it from the dark was its wide, glowing yellow and orange eyes.

His pain was what had him aware of his consciousness in the first place, and he had nearly cried himself awake. Though, a tear already escaped down his cheek as he winced again. He lifted his hand, small and shaking, and went to wipe away at the wet, until he realized there was more wet than he had firstly felt down his face.

The smell of rust hit his nose, one he did smell many times whenever he’d accidentally cut a finger trying to use a knife to cut food without his mother knowing. Jim was reminded again of the searing pain above his forehead, where the extra wet had been gushing out of. 

Touching it was not a good idea, and Jim immediately released a few more tears from the action, whimpering quietly.

He would have sobbed openly, calling out for Mom to comfort him, if he hadn’t just again noticed that he was being carried by something huge. The light shining on them, Jim noted curiously, was striking and blue, and came from infrequent little hollows that spanned about the Something Huge. The Something Huge felt hard and was textured like rough rocks from where Jim’s body was pressed against it.

The rock was warm and… soft. Not  _ soft _ , but… soft. Could he even call stone soft?

At that point, he was scared, but his curiosity and confusion then won out beyond that fear. Why was he bleeding, and what  _ was _ this Something Huge?

He was met with one glowing eye, the teal blue stark against the black of the sclera and the rest of his rough face. If the monster could, it did not smile when it saw him aware.

“The child is awake,” The dark creature spoke, seeming to speak more to itself, and Jim wasn’t really surprised when he heard its voice being deep and rugged. It continued, staring straight at him. “Are you afraid?”

The boy didn’t want to seem that he  _ was _ , but he was more concerned about what was happening than not letting the creature know his feelings. “I don’t know where I am. Where’s my mom?”

He wanted her to be here, to kiss him on the cheek and clean him up. To comfort him and wipe away his tears, to love him.

The giant creature ignored his question, as it went on, “Are you afraid of  _ us _ ?”

Jim bit his lip, looking at the dark monster again. Its teeth were white and gleaming, terrifying to those who might see them at first glance. As well as its long, wide horns the same black as all of its body, its appearance would certainly strike fear into poor souls. Yet, the boy didn’t exactly know what to feel, the creature didn’t do anything to him, it couldn’t be that bad? He continued honestly, “I don’t know, but you  _ are _ big and scary.” Wait, did it say  _ ‘us’ _ ?

The dark giant hummed, a rumble through his throat. “Do you know  _ what _ we are?”

“Cosplayers?” The answer left Jim’s lips before he could think, and he sounded a little confident in it too. The eye, singular as it was, looked at him in a puzzled way, and the boy heard an incredulous “ _ What _ ?” said behind the one carrying him. That was probably another of the  _ ‘we’ _ .

The cool flaring eye gazed back at him for a moment. Jim wondered if in any way his answer was wrong before another rumble was heard and felt through the creature’s massive rocky chest.

“No.  _ We _ are  _ trolls _ ,” (Like the little weirdo toys with the hair? This monster didn’t look so  _ little _ , but the thought left the boy’s mind when he recognized a hard, serious look of an adult) “And we will…  _ take care _ of you.”

This wasn’t right. Or at least, it didn’t  _ seem _ so. His mom’s the one who takes care of him, this monster must be mistaken. 

“What about my mom?” He wondered, as he knew for a fact that she was with him right before  _ whatever _ happened that resulted in him now cradled in this dark creature’s great arm. The foreboding feeling of  _ something isn’t right _ came back, but Jim didn’t understand why.

“Your mother is gone,” The starting words made the boy look up at the giant with wide eyes, and the speaker stared on straight, away from the little figure’s face. “I told her I would watch over you, and she accepted it.”

“...Gone?” There was something in the monster’s body that felt like it was slowly chipped away when it heard the boy’s tiny whisper, but it couldn’t have been a heart. It barely felt the feeling, even as it felt Jim’s eyes stare up at it again with a dawning realization and questioning ridden in the expressive blue.

“There had been an accident,” It continued gruffly, giving the boy a hint to catch on to what had exactly happened. It finally looked back at the human again, blue gazing in blue. “Your mother did not make it.”

“I— I…” Jim began to blubber, his eyes once again filling with tears, but now because of a pain that hurt harder than the gash on his head. It was a shame that the boy, so young, knew exactly of the implication the huge creature gave.

Now, he didn’t care if this monster was scary or not. He trembled and whispered for his mother, desperately hoping she’d come up from his summon and take him from this creature’s arms. How she’d hold him, and he’d get to bury his face in her soft chest and hear her light hum. Telling him everything was fine, he was fine,  _ she _ was fine.

When she didn’t, he quietly and openly sobbed.

He wanted his mother. 

The hold around him went tighter, and Jim felt more of his crying form being pressed into the rocky chest. The large creature didn’t seem to realize that this action of itself was involuntary.

Heaving breaths and a gushing river of emotion wracked from his little face, and didn’t care to notice that they walked to a huge clearing where there were significantly less trees, and kept walking. The little rise up and down of himself in the creature’s arms slightly comforted him, and he drew himself closer to the stone’s warmth.

It wasn’t a whole lot, but, he did feel a  _ little _ better. Everything was unfamiliar and weird at the moment, especially since he couldn’t quite believe that monsters—  _ trolls _ were  _ here _ and with him now.

But they were. Even though Jim wanted to cry even more, he was definitely drained, and he actually felt  _ safe _ in the presence of this creature, in its arm.

If his mom trusted these  _ trolls _ to care for him, then he was fine, he hoped at least. Mom usually had a good judge of character. In amidst his shallow hiccups, Jim wondered if he’d ever see Mr. Strickler again. 

And  _ Toby _ . His eyes watered anew. Would he ever see his best friend again? Jim now also wanted him. But, hopefully he’d be okay. Tobes was amazing.

He thought about his mother again, but released a painful breath. “Well… if she  _ did _ want that,” Jim relaxed considerably, head resting back. “At least you guys seem nice.”

“ _ ‘Nice’ _ ?” Came the same indignant voice from behind. Jim almost forgot about them.

“ _ That _ is my son. Bular,” The dark creature muttered, sounding irked. It looked down at the cradled limp form, and he let a barely noticeable smile curl at his rocky lips. “Familiarize with your  _ new brother _ later once you are rested.”

There was no response, except for a sputter and exclamation coming from the other voice a few long moments after, “ _ Brother _ ?!”

Despite it all, Jim let out a breathy giggle, but now he was exhausted. He closed his wet eyes and quickly got to sleep.

•••

Toby wanted a glass of water. 

Or milk. Even a cookie, if Nana would allow him to have one at that late of night. All he had to do is pull the puppy look, and his grandmother  _ might _ relent. His planning, in his head, seemed flawless.

He hobbled down the stairs real late at night— or real early in the morning?— in his Gun Robot pajamas and headed straight to the kitchen. Nana was in the other room, and she was crying. She must be watching one of those Spanish romance dramas. Toby didn’t want to disturb her just yet, so he rushed to the kitchen which already had a light on. A prettily painted jar filled with the awesome stash stood on the high counter. He’ll just get that cookie himself.

“Toby-Pie?” He froze hearing the hoarse voice of his grandmother. “Is that you in the kitchen?”

Toby bit his lip, and considered lying. But he let the cookie go and stepped off the little stool, heading towards the living room. The place was dark, the only light coming from the television which had illuminated the concerned face of Nana and the wet tracks on her round cheeks.

“Sorry Nana,” The little redhead mumbled, standing idly at the doorway. He heard noises from the TV were quiet, probably still droning from the drama. “I was hungry. Can I sit with you?”

Toby didn’t think of anything when the elder’s small eyes grew wider in apprehension, even as he quickly rushed to the couch and sat where the blanket draped over. He knew Nana usually let him watch the Telenovelas alongside her, as the ones she did pick weren’t ‘inappropriate’, whatever that meant.

As he snuggled by his grandmother’s red sleeve, he turned his focus to the screen and noticed immediately that what was playing was  _ not _ a Spanish drama. It was a breaking news anchor, the image showing a crash site. The wrecked vehicle looked a lot like Jim’s mom’s car. It had the same license plate and everything.

The words from the headings were too quick to read, but from the faint words of the quieted TV, he heard that a woman had been killed from the accident, and her child, who had apparently rode with her, had likely been dragged away from the scene by an animal before the authorities were informed of the catastrophe.

The fact that the little teal car in the photo looked so familiar hit him again, and his pudgy form froze. Wasn’t Jim and his mom supposed to come home by now?

His green eyes stared wide up his Nana’s face. Her own eyes could barely be seen, behind her fogged up glasses as she sadly looked down at him. “Toby-Pie?” She asked, her hand softly rubbing his shoulder. Her usual sweet voice sounded frailer than ever.

Toby wasn’t sure, he didn’t want to be sure. He  _ had _ to know,  _ just in case _ , trying to ignore the stinging tears that threatened to fall. Maybe the TV was lying. He didn’t have to listen to everything that happens on TV.

“... Are Jim and Dr. Lake coming home, Nana?” Already his voice was warbled, and he could barely breathe. But if this  _ wasn’t _ true, then he would be fine. Jim and his mom  _ had _ to be fine for him to be fine.

But at Nana’s wrinkled frown, and another trail of wet fell down her cheek, she drew the little boy close to her chest and held him tight. “I’m so sorry, Sweetie.”

He buried his sobbing face into his grandmother’s red paisley shirt. Nana clearly did not mind his tears and snot soiling part of her fabric. Her own tears fogged her glasses up, but hadn’t bothered to remove them, as she held the boy with as much attempted comfort she tried to give with her thick arms.

At some point she turned the television off. It had only become background noise.

When news of his parents not making it from the cruise accident met him, he was nearly inconsolable as he was now. Jim was his best friend, and probably the best friend  _ ever,  _ that anyone could ever ask for. He never minded Toby’s want to be held, and the taller boy reciprocated their embraces. Jim was wonderful, thoughtful, and understanding, and their bond was tight and practically unbreakable.

That bond was broken now. Toby hated that he received the same kind of bad news twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i managed to include references of not only one, but two of my comics for this au into this chapter, albeit some parts slightly extended or altered :D kudos to those who know which ones!
> 
> i haven’t said this in the last chapter, but if anyone was wondering, the stone name jim couldn’t pronounce was ‘rhodochrosite’— a gorgeous mineral


	3. A Little Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction to familiar faces, and attempted familiarization comes to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this turned out a lot longer than expected, hopefully most of this isn’t word vomit, though like i said, this chapter’s supposed to be a little more lighthearted than the previous ones :)
> 
> ( chapter includes description of blood and injury, some grief/mourning, implied killing of an animal, and a child trying real hard to become an educator )

Everything had gone by quicker than expected. The authorities arrived to inspect the scene, and the breaking news was all said and done. All in the span of the night to the morning. Wearily, Walter Strickler arrived at his own home, managing to escape most of the questioning, and his normally steady fingers shook as he fumbled with unlocking the front door. 

His hand was still covered in bits of red blood, _her_ blood. His hearts ached and numbed severely at the reminder. As much as he’d do anything to keep her in memory, keeping the blood on hand for eternity would just be… weird. 

He washed through in his basin, scrubbing away the blood, but not the pain.

He did it quickly, because while he was a relatively clean person, in his own opinion, there were current matters more important than godly cleanliness. The man rushed into his living room with still wet hands, then to a cabinet in his kitchen. Many of medicinal supplies resided there, mostly for changelings and trolls, were at the far back of the cabinet. He chose the closest, a simple kit with the standard red cross as its emblem. He checked inside for the needed things.

He did notice the poor boy, _Jim_ , injured in his head that looked nearly severe when he had seen him, so unless the Gumm-Gumms suddenly knew how to doctor a human, he was going to aid that. He stiffened as he closed the kit. It was given to him by Barbara, if Jim somehow got hurt from her son’s staying over at his house whenever she worked at later hours and little Tobias wasn’t emotionally ready for company in his Nana’s home.

The most he had treated was a raw, skinned knee when the boy fell in his driveway, but now he tried to recall many other simple medicinal procedures Barbara had told him, along with mild experiences from centuries ago. 

As he hurried out of the house, the first-aid kit and a water bottle in tow, he passed his living room again and briefly noticed a few toys neatly placed on a small shelf, usually played with then left behind by Jim at his visits. Strickler would have considered bringing them along for the boy, but now he was already out the door. He barely looked around to check his surroundings before transforming and taking to the air.

His already aching wings only practically screamed at him for the overuse after so long of unuse, but it was ignored as he flew faster in the dawning air, beginning lights that would have hurt for a troll otherwise only felt warm to his already burning appendages.

He didn’t fly too high, this time, lest the risk of getting seen against the periwinkle sky, but he hoped he was getting to his destination quick enough. 

He held the items close to his stony chest all the while.

He neared the thicker part of the nearby forest, barely explored by the humans thanks to some changelings acting as rangers to drive them away if they ever came near the certain prohibited destination.

The certain destination, in fact, was a large barn, its red paint greying and chipping from age. It was discovered, abandoned, soon becoming the main hideout for all the escaped Gumm-Gumms in the daytime, if they didn’t sometimes go to the city's museum. The old barn was halfway covered by trees, which were somehow larger in this area than anywhere else in the forest. No matter, they provided the shade that got the Gumm-Gumms around while the sun was out.

As thankfully expected, he saw the Underlord and his Prince exit the barn’s large sliding doors as he landed, but stumbled on his feet as he did so, a good few yards away.

The man regained his footing with practiced ease, then changed back to his human form— it would be better if Jim saw a familiar face when he would go to aid him, if he was there.

Clearing his throat, he approached the two tar-colored trolls. He stepped before them, in the dawning sunlight while they were still in the shade. The Gumm-Gumms faced the changeling, but only Gunmar addressed him on sight, while gruffly. 

“What are you doing here again, Stricklander?” The man bowed his head in response.

“The child you brought with you— I noticed he was injured,” He lifted his head to look him in the one, black and blue iris. “I’ve come to help aid him.”

He was responded by a grunt. “How will I know that you can be trusted for caring for the fleshbag?”

_Hm_ , the changeling mused to himself, _that is also a question I should apply to you_. 

Yet he didn’t speak these words. He wanted to live, after all.

“My Lord, you can have the place surrounded by _nothing_ , and I’d guarantee that I wouldn’t take him away,” Said he instead, eye contact continuing and firm with true, actual promise. “I wouldn't dream of harming the boy, either.”

“Hm. Is your matter of healing _effective_?”

“Of course, my Lord. I’ve… learned from one of the best human doctors I’ve ever known.” The hesitation was quick, and he hoped the Skullcrusher didn’t take it as him doubting his abilities.

He grunted again, instead, maybe for affirmation. Maybe he didn’t notice the man’s slight choking tone before it passed.

Strickler eyed his superior, wrinkling his nose at a sudden thought coming to mind. “You didn’t… _lick_ his wound, did you?”

“We did not.” Gunmar confirmed. He narrowed his sole eye. “Were we supposed to?”

“Pale Lady, _no_ ,” The changeling muttered quickly, relieved. “Human flesh injuries are more than likely in getting infected, and keeping human-standardized oral hygiene is _not_ your best quality.” Or _any_ standardized oral hygiene whatsoever, probably. Who _knew_ where their tongues have been? 

Even with the changeling’s cleaner mouth, he still wouldn’t _dare_ do that to the boy. He held up the little kit and water bottle in front him in emphasis. “A head injury is helped by _more_ than that, anyway. Let me treat him, and I promise Jim would be fine, give or take a few days of healing.”

“Jim is his name?” Gunmar questioned, more to himself, but he noticed Strickler grow ramrod straight and still, as if coming to the realization that he had slipped something out unintentionally. So the changeling knew the fleshbag child, this could be interesting. He stepped to the side, instead of voicing anything else on that matter. “Go in. He is awake again.”

The man gave the Lord a light nod before he neared the barn’s large entrance, albeit still providing more than a respectful distance between himself and the Gumm-Gumm as he walked past. Doing so had him closer to Bular, but Strickler didn’t exactly ‘revere’ him the way he did at his father. In fact, the changeling ignored the Dark Prince altogether as he nearly brushed past the ashen troll. 

Despite the warning growl that came afterward, all Strickler cared for was seeing and treating the child inside the barn. He pushed a large door open, and stepped inside.

•••

After seeing the two dark monsters leave, Jim thought he was to be left alone for a while. He still kept on his claim that the both seemed nice, even though the one with the smaller curled horns always scowled at him and looked as if he was about to throw a fit. He reminded Jim of when he was at one of his own moods, frowny and pouty. 

_That_ one didn’t exactly pout when he saw him, but for such a big frightening thing, why would he?

The one with the longer horns and blue markings hadn’t smiled at all either, but he only looked stern through his initial frightening features and he at least cared enough to set him on this… bed thing. A bunch of hay compact to a lump with a blanket on it, and another blanket on top. It wasn’t _that_ comfortable, but he at least _felt_ comfortable. 

He had woke again just when he was tucked in, jostled by the stinging pain of his head cut. He was still more awed by the large creatures than to cry about it, though tears had still surfaced and rolled down. The blue-marked troll was a bit softer in his touch (which was _still_ so weird to say about _stone_ ), but he had gruffly and firmly told him to get some rest and to stay here, wherever _here_ was.

It was dark, hay was scattered about and there were unfinished, or probably broken, stalls and posts in the place. There was barely any light, save for the holes at a far part of the roof where the beginning rays of sun seeped through.

The place was _big_ , but compared to the two trolls, it seemed like a cottage, with a broken high end that worked as a second story for whatever this place was.

Suddenly, one of the huge doors at the front of the building slid open with ease, _ease_ but from someone who looked not like the stronger creatures that put him here. The person closed the door before advancing towards him, slowly. Jim squinted his eyes, not knowing why he could barely see the figure from afar, and it wasn’t because of the dark. Maybe it was because of his head pain?

The person stopped a few feet before his little nest, and only then did Jim see who it was.

“Mr. Strickler?!” The boy sat up at seeing the familiar face, but realized his mistake as the pain burst through again at his temple, prompting tears from his eyes. Despite that, he looked up at the man with a joy that Strickler was sure would have melted a heart. “You’re here? Is that really you?”

The older man couldn’t stop a chuckle escaping his lips as he then went and sat down at the matted nest and coaxed the child to lay back down again.

“Be careful of your head now, Young Atlas. Yes, it—— don’t _touch_ it, hand away, hand _away_ ,” Walter quickly scolded and sighed as he reached for the little towel and bowl inside the kit. Jim dropped his hand by his side and sighed as well. This was _definitely_ Mr. Strickler.

The man confirmed it anyway, and after rolling his sweater’s sleeves up to the elbows, he beckoned the boy up, where he lumped a thick cloth to use as a pillow for Jim before dumping the brought water bottle’s contents into the little bowl. He then dipped the little towel in the water before going to wipe his patient’s face and head clean from blood. 

The water was cool, Jim felt, when the damp towel was dragged along his skin. It soothed, and was very refreshing, especially at Mr. Strickler’s gentle hand. He couldn’t help but to lean in to the wet touch. He heard Mr. Strickler chuckle as a result.

The wet and dried blood was mostly gone from his skin, and the man went to the step of actually tending and caring for the head wound. The cut ran from the boy’s left temple and stopped barely past his hairline in the middle. It was long, though not too deep, but Strickler was quick to inspect and clean it with the antibiotics available in the medicinal kit. The boy winced as soon as he felt the expected sting, but the man was finished with his work before tears would spill. A long roll of gauze was wrapped snugly, but not too tightly, around the head.

Strickler picked at parts where the skin might irritate from the bandage as a mistake. In the kit was also a small hand mirror, which he found a little convenient. 

He held the mirror in front of him in Jim’s direction, sporting a smirk. “And how does the masquerade _diva_ think of his new look?”

The boy wrinkled his nose, bringing a hand to tug behind where the bandage’s edge ran uncomfortably over his hair. “I look like someone tried to use me as a dummy for mummy wrapping school, but they just gave up at the beginning.”

Strickler openly laughed at that. Jim certainly picked something up from _him_. “A mummy dummy! You, child, are very clever.”

Jim started to laugh along with the man, but pain again erupted from his temple, and he winced and swayed as a result. “Uh… I feel real dizzy, Mr. Strickler.”

The man frowned, and slowly lifted the boy’s chin up, checking for signs of a possible human concussion. The dizziness could, of course, be from the blood loss. His pupils were dilated, but he was also unsure it was because of the darkness of the barn. Still, if Jim claimed to be as wobbly as he now looked, there was a chance that he had one.

“Well, it looks like you have a concussion. A mild one, at that.” He handed over what was left of the water bottle. “Drink, and then rest. I can go and get you some food.”

Jim’s face reddened when his stomach took the practical time to gurgle as the mention of food. He quickly grabbed the bottle and took careful sips, muttering a thanks. When the man stood, however, Jim was quick to rise again despite the queasy feeling that happened when he did so, ocean blue eyes pleading. 

“Don’t go yet, Mr. Strickler!” He begged. “Can’t you stay a few more minutes?”

The words were familiar to the changeling, the boy always said similar pleas whenever he had to leave the Lake home, or when it was Jim’s time to go home from his own house. Strickler was always weakened by his doe-eyed calls, even so at this instance. He hummed as he complied. “A few more minutes.”

He kept the boy from bouncing in place from excitement lest he would worsen the possible concussion, and he tucked the old blanket over Jim’s form almost as snugly as the Gumm-Gumms have done it. Which, in queue, became the subject Jim decided to then babble about.

“Did you see those big black creatures? They brought me here, Mr. Strickler!” 

The man stared on fondly with his sharp green eyes— not for the _big black creatures_ , of course, but for the way the boy took on an expression of innocent wonder on his young face. He looked bright and nearly unscathed, the obvious bandage be damned.

“Yes, I did.” 

“I thought they were scary looking, but they were nice enough to bring me here and make me a little bed!” He shifted in the bed in question. “I mean, the one with the one eye did. I dunno about the other one… he didn’t really look so happy.”

_That was Bular for him_ , Strickler mused. He perhaps was using dejection to mask his surprise for the unexpected arrangements. He nodded and smiled to the other, indicating he was still listening.

“There was also another one! They had real bright eyes and I saw them when I woke up! ‘Til I couldn’t see them anymore,” Jim sniffed, his toothy grin replaced by something thoughtful. “They were funny looking, though.”

At that, the changeling snorted. He had a _faint_ idea of who the boy referred to, and he put a hand on the other’s shoulder. 

Strickler hesitated, slightly, before clearing his throat.

“Well, that _‘funny looking’_ one is someone who regards _very_ highly of you, and sees you as a child of theirs.” He put on a playful mask to the confused child before going on with the reveal, “And _they_ are _me_.”

The bandaged child stared at him, blurring gaze wide before narrowing in doubt.

“I don’t believe it,” Jim said, eyeing the man up suspiciously while still being snuggled up in the blanket, where underneath Strickler could see the outline of crossing arms. “That’s— out of, like, _everything_ , I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true, I tell you. I am a changeling. I change.”

Jim’s sloped nose wrinkled in disbelief. Strickler sighed, both in thought and at how adorable the six-year-old looked now.

“Oh, Atlas. Must I provide evidence from the _text_ or real life to prove it to you?” 

“Sure,” The boy replied, still uncertain. “I don’t know, saying you’re a _‘changing’_ is like saying— like saying _lawn gnomes_ are just real life creatures!”

“ _‘Changeling’_ ,” Strickler corrected, holding back a snort as he chose not to confirm the latter of Jim’s doubtful sentence. He shook his head, letting out another sigh (a lot of sighing from him today, he noted to himself). “I’d switch forms in front of you, but you’ve had enough excitement for right now. Don’t want to make that headache worse, alright?”

Jim pouted still, but gave a nod, slow this time. He looked down and sank deeper in the makeshift nest. Strickler thought this was a sign to leave, and he was about to remove his hand from the other’s shoulder when he stilled from hearing the boy’s then soft, quiet words;

“Mr. Strickler? Did you know Mom is… gone…?”

The changeling’s hearts felt as though shattered.

He cleared his throat, looking down as well. “Yes, I do know,” He murmured in turn.

He heard a wet sniff, and he looked at Jim again. He was not surprised at how quickly his small face became painted with tears. He felt one of his own escaping down his cheek.

Instinctively knowing how to try to soothe a crying child, but this time for a different reason, he shifted closer to Jim and held him to his chest, minding his bandaged head. The both then laid on the suddenly less than comfortable nest, the boy shaking as he wept again for the loss.

“I— I don’t even kn— know what happened!” He whimpered as he sobbed, clutching the man's sweater. “Mo— Mom was driving and… and then I woke up… They— they said they saved me b— but they couldn’t… they _couldn’t_ save—“

Strickler rubbed the crumpled figure’s back as they laid. “They” were Gunmar and Bular, Strickler figured. His brows furrowed, recalling how Gunmar stated he was the one causing the accident. 

All Jim knew was that they were his saviours, but Strickler knew better than to tell the boy this fact. 

At least, not right now. And probably not from him.

Little time passed as he continued his ministrations upon the small child, holding him close and he sobbed from grief and the continued pain from his temple and within. The changeling became choked up also, even while he continued his subduing words.

Jim quieted after a phase, and dozed again. Strickler continued to hold him close. Slowly putting them in a more comfortable position without disturbing the boy, he wiped a tear streaked cheek clean and pressed his lips against it. 

“I… love you, young Jim Lake,” He said in a quiet voice, to the boy who couldn’t hear him now. He knew, precisely, how it felt to lose so much at such a young age. “Gunmar has given a promise, and I intend to help him keep it.”

The few minutes assured might grow to a few hours. It’s fine, it was a weekend. He was fine with staying for as long as they both needed.

•••

As soon as the changeling disappeared behind the barn doors, Bular turned to his father, opening his mouth to voice his thoughts on _this_ when the other cut him off.

“Let the changeling be. I will be going hunting now.”

His Prince stared at him. The _last_ time they went hunting, _they brought a human child with them_.

“ _About_ the changeling, Father,” He let that subject go, bringing up this matter with ire in his yellow and red eyes. “Stricklander claimed he would not do anything, but how will we know if we are not here to be sure?”

Gunmar regarded his son for a moment. “I said _I_ will be going. _You_ can stay, if it so pleases you.”

Bular recoiled at that. He would not be staying here just to watch the changeling _doctor_ a fleshbag _child_. 

His father turned away from him. “But that is only an option. You do not care for the child, so you can leave him be in Stricklander’s supervision.

Bular looked at his father’s back, narrowing eyes. “Do you trust the _changeling_?”

Gunmar hummed. “I did not say that.” He turned his racked head a slight. “Do _you_ think I have any _trust_ for an impure?”

“No,” His son responded after a moment, ducking his head. The Underlord nearly turned fully to look at him again.

“They are pawns, and I _trust_ that they understand their place and their operations. Their _loyalty_ , too, to some extent.” His sole eye flashed with something intense. “But _them_ I do not trust. _Stricklander_ I do not trust either.”

Bular opened his mouth, but was again cut off.

“But, if all he is doing is aiding the fleshbag, then I have a _belief_ in his task.” His teeth flashed along with his eyes. “And _he_ has a belief of what would happen if he steps out of line.”

Gunmar’s son looked down, fists clenching at his sides, tail swaying in aggravation. Not at his father, of _course_ , he realized how his words made sense. But he still disliked all of… _this_.

“If I do not watch over them, then what am I to do?” He stared back up, questioning towards the Skullcrusher’s gaze, who only turned away from him after a bit.

“Do whatever you want, while remembering your limits. Patrol the area, meet with our group. But I am hunting _alone_.”

Gunmar had usually declined his son going with him for any bout of hunting— or scavenging— many times before. This time, however, only seemed more hurtful to Bular now. He chose not to show it, only scowling at his limited choices. 

His father grunted, then went ahead to disappear into the trees a little way from the front of the barn. Now he was alone.

Bular glanced back to the faded building before huffing and turning to the part of the compact forest right at the barn’s side. He wouldn’t be alone for longer.

A long way from the barn was a well spaced clearing, but heavily covered in trees that it thickly sheltered the place from any sky and sun. Which would definitely make the little fire in the middle more hazardous, but Bular, and the six figures around it, did not seem to care.

Here was their sanctuary since three or four (the fast years have always escaped the Dark Prince) decades ago, besides the abandoned barn. The clearing was of a smaller area than the fleshbag-made structure, but it was less confined and more natural. 

Their little group, minus their Underlord and his son, consisted of five soldiers that had been lucky enough to escape onto Earth unlike the rest of their vast numbered brethren, all nearly looking alike, to Bular at least. The sixth was his father’s advisor, a smaller pale six-eyed four-armed troll who practically was attached to Gunmar’s hip in any way he willed to provide service to him. All, when the ashen Gumm-Gumm noticed as he drew closer, were currently laughing at some tall tale or whatever near the little flame.

Bular never really participated in their little quips and stories mainly because Gunmar never did, but now he slumped on the log near the group. Sharpening his swords _again_ would have him continuing the action until all left would be the handle of bone, so he crossed his arms, only half listening to the discussion.

The six others had curled in a semicircle around themselves, perhaps not noticing their Prince, as one of them recited a tale that was likely said too many times before. From the way the rest regarded the story with laughs and eager intensity, it was worth retelling. And, probably interesting. Bular leaned his head more in their direction.

“ _—and the sorry bastard went and poked the beast anyway,_ ” The teller spoke amusingly in Gumm-Gumm. “ _First the mutant Stalklings, you would think they’d learn their lesson! But no, that Nyarlagroth woke, and it was easily the largest they’d ever seen_ —“ 

The tale went on about how the… friend? of the story teller (whose name was Bug— Bugh? Begh. Bular was sure their name was Begh, only really telling from their higher pitch of tone compared to everyone else in the group) fought off the suggested “ _largest Nyarlagroth_ ” before running into five more— _what—_ and escaping them after taking another down.

A lot had happened in the Darklands, but Bular had never been. He had no choice but to believe these stories from the ones who’ve spent their time there, as ridiculous as they sounded.

Begh closed their eyes in mirth, after some time within the story. “ _If you thought Werar was out of their mind then, you should have seen their idiocy when we had been on the above ground all that time ago! I remember once when we were younger, they stumbled upon a whole herd of wild, bull_ Slorrs _! Still, they—_ “

“ _A herd of_ what?” Bular gruffly interrupted in the same tongue, but doing so had the entire group turn their attention to him, which unfortunately also stopped the current tale.

“ _Sire_ !” The teller acknowledged. “ _We didn’t know you’d be joining us!_ ”

“ _We were just hearing another one of Korack’s insanely tall tales_ ,” The soldier right next to them chuckled gruffly, making the teller punch their shoulder with a little more than enough force.

( _Oh_ , their name was _Korack_ . Not _Begh_ . Where did he get _Begh_ from? Bular found it piteous of himself to remember some of the _changeling_ names clearly over his nearly equals. Truly upsetting.)

Gunmar’s advisor— Bular also couldn’t recall _his_ name, either, despite knowing his father always called it out loudly whenever he needed him— bowed his head towards him besides the group. His four small hands steepled and his dark lips curled in a grin facing the Prince. “It’s been long since you and Gunmar went out for hunting,” He said in English, looking around the taller figure, frowning as he searched for something not there. “Have you brought anything back? It’s been months since we’ve had _anything_ but the _wasted_ fleshbag metals and plastics.”

Mere recycling was tasty enough, to an extent, but it just didn’t satiate their appetites just as well as something that bleeds. 

The five other soldiers that had stilled respectfully instantly perked up at the mention of hunting. Hunting meant food. 

“ _Dark Prince_ ,” One of them that hadn’t spoken yet voiced, a little curiously. “ _You smell very faintly of… human_?”

“ _Don’t be foolish, Begh_ ,” The one beside Korack exclaimed (so _their_ name was Begh… again, to Bular they all looked the same). “ _It could be one of the changelings you smell. They always_ reek _of fleshbag_.”

“ _This is stronger than the impures, though. I smell it also_ ,” Another unspoken one said.

“ _Are we eating humans, now?_ ” The last one spoke a little timidly, as great the warrior they were. “ _What about the changeling decree we were to not interfere at all with them yet?_ ” They were met by a deep scoff from Begh.

“ _Why should we continue keeping to a rule by the_ impures _?_ ”

“ _We are keeping low, like they suggested. We need time to locate the Trollhunter._ ”

“ _What’s with the loss of a few fleshbags? The former Dwoza trolls and their human_ pact _be damned._ ”

“ _If we are having humans to eat, why is there no scent of blood?_ ” One of the other soldiers voiced, and suddenly all of them including Gunmar’s advisor began to speak at once.

Bular was already having a headache, the ringing in his curled horns hadn’t ceased since their volume started increasing.

He let out a bellowing “ _SILENCE_ ” that stunned everyone else silent. Startled small birds in the above trees fled with shrilling chirps.

The Dark Prince stared at the group, all bowing their heads in revere. Even the little fire in the center seemed to have dimmed since his roar. He exhaled through his nose, letting out a tired rumble as a result. This was certainly how his father felt in such regard to having such annoying council, even if this group was at a far smaller size. Except, Bular wouldn’t go so far as punishment against those who spoke off of the subject. Not this time.

They all were staring at him expectantly now, and through their silence he could still hear their questions— why did he smell of human, where is Gunmar, where is the food? He took a step closer to them. His father never said anything against informing the rest of their entourage about what had happened, did he?

He took a breath before he spoke, quietly. Might as well;

“ _There had been… an_ accident _regarding a human vehicle. One my father caused. He promised the dying fleshbag mother that he’d look after her son. He is staying at the barn now.”_

No interruption. Nothing at all. All of them had grown still, even Bular did. He frowned a little, continuing. “ _My father is hunting for food again. One of the changelings is here with the fleshbag child and aiding his wounds—_ “

Finally, an interruption, and the reaction was what was expected— sudden and amused exclamation.

“ _By Morgana’s name_ !” The soldier that spoke first at Bular’s acknowledgement let out a guffaw. “ _I thought_ Korack’s _tales were extraordinary!_ ” They didn’t care when said tale-teller punched their shoulder again, but even Korack began laughing, as did the rest of the group besides Bular.

“Dubious!” The advisor agreed, howling while wracking his tiny fists into the wood from the humour. “That is— that’s— that is…” His multi spectacled gaze fell on the taut posture of the Prince, dark face hard and unshowing of any hilarity, and his own smiling face fell away as his green skin grew paler than before. “...true.”

The five others’ laughter rapidly died down, and behind their dark glowing helmets, all their small eyes grew uncharacteristically wide. Again, they all started speaking at once, this time in utter disbelief.

And again, Bular let out another declaration of quietude. 

“ _I do not… understand this any more than you do_ ,” He spoke after the immediate silence. “ _I can barely understand it at all._ _But it is my father’s decision_. _What he plans to do with him, we all must trust our Lord, the Skullcrusher the Great_.”

He wasn’t going to let this _strange_ decision make his father’s loyal soldiers grow wary, especially not over a _fleshbag_. 

Instantly, and thankfully, Gunmar’s short advisor had quickly stood and went to defend the one he had always seemed so happy to be defending. “Our Prince is right. This fleshbag could be something good for history and our ploys. We must—“

Whatever the advisor said next, Bular wasn’t paying attention to it, a little put off from the way he also defended the fleshbag in the case, not only Gunmar. 

Maybe he should have listened, the five soldiers have apparently calmed and seemed to agree with his words, suddenly confident with Gunmar’s choice. The advisor, whatever his name was, was always good with words.

“Hm.” Bular regarded the smaller, pale troll next to him as everyone else continued to converse or bicker. He reverted back to English when he spoke, “It nearly sounds as if you were alright with the fleshbag staying under our watch.” Though, he was met with a quick waving of the other’s hand.

“Oh, no, I do not like it either. But, again, I have so much faith in his Highness. Hopefully he won’t force the whelp in _my_ direction… You said it was a human _child_ , correct?” At the Prince’s confirmation, the advisor let out a rasped sigh, before muttering, “Well, now _that_ is even _better_.”

Bular snorted in reply, and the advisor sat on the log again, grumbling to himself, before investing into the current growing gossip between them all.

Bular stayed for a long time, this time not participating with anything other than small noises as answers.

Then he decided he’d had enough, told everyone gruffly that Gunmar should be returning soon with actual food, and left the assembly in the clearing to their antics. 

When he trekked back to the barren barn, Bular noted it was still day. The time had always gone by fast for him, but now it was painstakingly slow. How uncomfortable. If he had to guess, it was barely a few hours past since he left in the first place. 

Why was time like this, right _now_?

He settled at the side of the old fleshbag architecture when he got there, barely managing to evade the rays of direct sunlight. All he did was stand near a tree nearby, waiting for his father’s return, should it be quick. He gave small glances towards the barn as he did so. 

Did Stricklander leave already? …Did he bring the child with him.

Barely a few moments passed before he heard the barn’s door rumble as it slid open, and he noticed the same Stricklander step out, looking the same except a little slouched, and sans his usual tan jacket. 

Bular growled, searching for any signs of the changeling appearing untrustworthy, but all he did was close the sliding door except for a small gap. He was clearly alone. He stood for a while before turning directly to the Gumm-Gumm’s direction, quickly enough to jolt his head up in surprise.

The changeling on the other hand stared at him for a moment, before bowing his head low as he spoke. “The wound is treated. I will be coming back later to change the bandages.” 

Stricklander had the appearance of looking older than Bular, despite him being several centuries younger. Now, especially, did he look aged and weary. But his face continued to show a calm and sharpness to it. “He is resting, and should continue so. Do watch him and make sure he is alright.”

Bular curled his lip. “Do not tell me what to do, im—“

“I am leaving to get some food suitable for a human child, and I do have other things to do anyway, unfortunately,” The changeling continued, cutting the other off without missing a beat. His green eyes stared into his ruby ones, gaze as hard and firm as his tone. “I will not be here at the time something might happen, and that leaves you alone with him until your father returns. Speaking of whom, would _also_ want you to watch over the same child he promised to care for.”

Bular thought he was doing considerably well with their little staring contest, up until his father was mentioned. He continued his sneer, but his broad shoulders dropped. 

The changeling was _right_. 

He let out a sudden growl, though he couldn’t find it within himself to grin at the other man’s resulting flinch.

He _loathed_ that the _changeling_ was _right_.

Now, he just stood under the rotting open faced shed built to the side of the barn. It helped with immediate shelter, as the sun was now directly above them. Stricklander turned away and walked the other way to the forest leading back to Arcadia. He didn’t switch forms and fly, this time.

And now here was Bular, bored out of his mind because here he was guarding a _child_ he had little care for. A fleshbag child, to add onto injury. What would his ancestors, so gruesome and proud, think of this _pathetic_ sight?

Where time was slow to him for this day otherwise, it wasn’t even long before his ears pricked at the sound of a familiar rumbling, though slow and steady, at the front of the barn.

Instantly he figured out the culprit, even before they stuck their tiny head out with widening eyes as they looked around. Bular didn’t say anything until the child stepped out into the pale dirt, sunlight encompassing their slightly ragged form.

“Runt,” He snarled, and the boy swayed a little after he spun too quickly towards the noise. His eyes were big, and blue in a way that reminded the Prince of one of the nearby lakes. _Obviously_ , we wouldn’t voice that out loud, now only glaring sharply at the fleshbag a good yard away. “ _You_ are not supposed to be outside.”

The boy only stared back at him, a little fear in his gaze. But, there was also wonder.

“You’re one of the monsters that saved me!” He squeaked suddenly. Bular visibly recoiled when he heard this, and even more so when the boy quickly trotted closer to him.

Now, the small fleshbag was nearly right in front of him, then stumbling back a step. Bular was covered in shade. The boy in sunlight. 

“No— _trolls_ !” He recalled quickly, and he ducked his head a little. “Sorry! You’re one of the _trolls_ that saved me… Thank you.”

Bular only stared down at the child. A faded red stain where his wound should be was upon the white bandage nearly wrapping his whole head, bits of black hair stook out from the layers.

And… how _dare_ the fleshbag be so close to _his_ vicinity?

He snarled again. “You should be staying inside the barn.”

“Aww. Did… did Mr. Strickler tell you I gotta?”

Bular’s warning snort was all that he needed, and the boy let out a little groan. 

“I won’t be going anywhere, promise! I just wanted to see where I am.” Blue eyes met his glowing ones pleadingly. “You don’t even have to tell him anything!”

The Gumm-Gumm’s brow of stone raised at the child’s willingness of defiance. What was _he_ to do, anyway? He was in the shade. The boy was in the sunlight. 

He _willed_ the boy to stay like he just promised.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re quite the elusive one, Runt.”

“Jim!”

“What?”

The fleshbag peered up and up to look the large troll in the eye. He frowned shyly before letting a polite grin take on his young features. “My name’s not ‘Runt’, it’s ‘Jim’.”

“Jim,” Bular rumbled slowly as he repeated the fleshbag name. He heard Stricklander say it before. Jim bounced in place.

“Yeah! Short for ‘James’!”

The Gumm-Gumm’s mind tried to make sense of the correlation between the two names that were really ‘one’. He couldn’t.

“What’s your name?” He heard the child squeak, when he did not verbally respond to other words. 

Bular crossed his burly arms, recalling when he heard the horrible joke (he _hoped_ was a joke) Gunmar made by calling him the fleshbag’s… new sibling. “I believe my father’s already informed you _that_ ,” He grunted.

“Boomer?”

At that, he sputtered. “ _What?_ ” That wasn’t even _close_ . He growled, low and deep. “I am _Bular_ the Butcher, the _Vicious_ , heir of the Skullcrusher, Gunmar the Black.”

The boy’s brow’s furrowed. “‘Bular’. That’s a cool name.”

“Hmm,” The one with the ‘cool name’ replied. Inside… he agreed. There was an odd silence that followed, with Jim moving side to side in place, scratching a part of the stained bandage as he did so.

“Mr. Bular,” He began, still scratching. The noise irritated the ashen creature. “Do you know when Mr. Strickler’s coming back? I’m hungry.”

So was _he_. He breathed out slow, remembering what his father would do for those who deserved consequence, in case he’d act upon it now. “I do not know. Later, he said. I’m to be watching you in the meantime.”

“Oh, okay.”

That was all, but the scritching noise continued. _Perfect_.

It stopped after a while, in slight relief to Bular’s ears, until the boy spoke again, “‘Pro-per-ty of Del-To-ro’.”

“What are you doing, Boy.”

“That’s what it says!” Jim pointed at the barn’s front. Bular tried craning his neck to see the implied letters the child spoke of, while still in the shade. There they were. And that was apparently what they read.

“I did not know that,” He let slip out, meaning for himself, but the boy looked back at him, tilting his injured head in a curious manner.

“Oh. You can’t read?” His tone was questioning, but non-judgemental. Still, Bular glowered down at him.

“I can’t read your _English_ . I can read anything in my _own_ dialect just fine.”

“Oh,” The boy bit his lip, looking around. Admittedly, he was bored. He looked back up at the creature darker than his surrounding shade. “Want me to teach you, kinda?”

Bular stared at Jim, taken aback by the sudden offer. “What?”

“ _What?_ ” apparently meant “ _Yes. Sure. Absolutely._ ” to the child, as he went on his knees and cleared the dirt smooth before them. The Gumm-Gumm scrunched up his face, seeing Jim grasp a nearby stick and began to write little inscriptions in the ground, recognizable to Bular but unknowing of what they were. 

Despite himself, he crouched down low himself to better look at the writing on the dirt, and he picked up the child’s voice quietly enunciating whatever he finished writing.

“There!” Jim said it now clearly, leaning back. “These are the letters in our alphabet!”

“Alpha-bet?” It’s all Greek to him.

“Yep!” He used the stick to point at every letter written in the rows. “That’s ‘a’, that’s ‘bee’, then ‘see’, ‘dee’—“

Bular tried to follow the boy’s way of instruction as he continued on, but he wasn’t exactly… learning from this. The fleshbag’s method of instruction was rather quick and he couldn’t understand which letter was which and all of that (and _their_ letters looked so much more simpler than Gumm-Gumm scripture).

He growled, prompting the boy to stop and look back up to him. From the troll’s frustrated glare, Jim sheepishly frowned. “Is this not helping?”

Bular opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted— he was being interrupted _so_ many times today— but the child sweeping away the letters from the dirt and piping up again, “What if I just write a word and I can help you say it?”

Now that was an even poorer way of teaching, but, again, the impulsive child bent again to write. He stilled after the first letter, and he looked nearly queasy, the faded red from his bandaged forehead seeming slightly darker, but he then continued as bright as ever. In the end Bular saw what seemed to be three poorly written letters in the ground. 

The fleshbag pointed his stick to the word. “That’s my name! ‘Jim’. ‘Jay- eye- em’.”

The Gumm-Gumm looked again at the writing. Still, he couldn’t _read_ it, but he at least knew what it said.

“Now we can try your name!” He raised the stick under the word, stilling for a moment. “How do you spell it?”

Bular gave him a nonchalant stare. He saw the child blush and murmur an “Oh, right”.

“Okay, well, I can _guess_ how it’s spelled! Hopefully it won’t be embarrassing…” At that he repeated the Prince’s name quietly to himself, trying to figure it out himself. Bular noticed Jim initially drawing two circles after the first letter, then pausing and rubbing them away to replace them with an upside down arch shape.

“I _think_ this could be it!” The boy squeaked, again using the twig as a pointer. “See? ‘Bee— you— el— a— ar’!”

Bular stared at the ground where the word was implied to be his name. He couldn’t read it, again, though… that was his _name_.

The child was grinning when he thought to glance back at him. Then, however, he winced and put his hand over his head. “Ow…”

Bular frowned as he saw Jim attempt to stand up and nearly fall over the first time. He saved himself from falling fully the second time when he caught himself with a hand. With the sun still out and over the boy, Bular couldn’t lend out his own.

Well, not that he _wanted_ to.

His sigh was masked by a growl. “Get inside, fleshbag. You need to rest. Stricklander informed me that you need it.”

“Strickler,” Jim corrected, but it was said in a mumble. It could be a trick in the Gumm-Gumm’s eyes, but he noticed the reddening stain growing darker.

“Get _inside_ ,” He said far more sharply. That had a quicker reaction from the boy, standing straighter but still with a sway from his form. He pouted, but relented, wobbling towards the open barn door.

“And _stay_ inside,” Bular continued as soon as Jim disappeared into the barn. He tried to relax slightly until he heard a “Good night, Mr. Bular!” from inside.

Bular looked ahead. It was still day. 

How slow was it going to be?

He crouched again in his little shelter, as soon as he figured Jim had settled. He was alone. Again. Now to wait for his father’s return.

The next hour was spent by brooding.

At least the sun was beginning to set at this time, the light blue of the sky had shifted to a darker shade, along with hints of pink and orange. Not at all like overcast, so Bular wasn’t going to risk anything. He then again noticed the inscription in the dirt before his feet.

He stared at it. For a long time.

What had compelled him to lift a pointed finger, he did not know. Said finger hovered over the ground in front of him, under the sideways script of his name. Then it dug into the dirt, and he followed the same letters the boy wrote as a near direct copy.

When he finished, there were now two words in the dirt, both the same.

He could only assume how the letters worked in their pronounciation, but there it was. His name.

An… accomplishment, of a sort. It was minor, it wasn’t something to maybe even take _pride_ in, but he _did_.

A snap. Bular whirled around, and felt nearly overjoyous seeing his father again after what seemed such a _forever_ a time. Gunmar held a large mangled piece of… an animal he couldn’t discern. Still, it was food.

The Dark Prince grinned at the catch, midsection growling as he smelled the mouthwatering scent of fresh blood (that was _not…_ human).

“You look ridiculous,” Gunmar growled as he neared. “Stop wagging your tail.”

Bular just did so, slightly humiliated by the involuntary action. He took his mind off food when his father stepped by the inscriptions in the dirt.

“Father,” He called, walking towards him as the Underlord stilled. He gestured his pointing finger toward the place where he had written his own name. “This may be insignificant, I know. But, do you know what that _reads_?”

Gunmar narrowed his glowing eye as he looked in the dirt. “‘Bular’.”

Bular, who had been so proud and wished to impress his father with his new knowledge, began to gape at how easily Gunmar had been able to read the letters. “I… _how—_ “

“Dictatious knows much about the human English. He had taught me how to read it, during our long imprisonment in the Darklands.” He continued to walk to the side of the barn, in the intended direction of where the rest of the group would be meeting. “Now, let us go. You checked on the child. What is his state?”

His son was still reeling from the fact that he knew this in the first place. Why didn’t he go and teach _him_?

And, oh, _Dictatious_ was Gunmar’s advisor’s name. 

Bular sighed and caught up with his father. He answered Gunmar’s question and began to inform him that the changeling would be coming back to provide food for the fleshbag, and that he had kept to his promise.

In fact, as he said so, his eyes picked up a stalkling-like silhouette nearing the barn again in the darkening evening sky.

Bular turned again to follow his father.

He thought of Jim for a brief moment. He still _disliked_ him, but he could admit that he thought a little… _differently_ about him.

Or, maybe that was just his hunger meddling with his thoughts.

•••

Strickler had visited Jim again in the later hours, bringing a sack of different foods to sustain a night and day, but he would have to continuously bring them to the boy every day or so unless he found another way to give him long term consumables that wouldn’t go bad so quickly given the surroundings. Jim had happily eaten the spinach and avocado sandwiches provided for him— they gave good protein, hence to help the possible concussion. Unlike most children his age, the boy enjoyed his greens, always babbling about how he’d become a world-famous chef one day.

The changeling was uncertain that could still be Jim’s future.

They both talked again in the barn, Jim exclaiming how he tried to teach “Mr. Bular” how to read (which terrified and amused Strickler), which ended up in light scolding from the man at the implication he did anything _but_ rest at that time. Nevertheless, Strickler felt well that the boy was happy, and he in turn felt better with Jim since… the time they both lost someone so precious.

Strickler left his jacket at the barn the first time he left, perhaps to give Jim and himself the ease that the familiar object would be comforting, a signal that things would be alright. He left it there the second time, too, not before kissing the child’s freshly re-bandaged head as he slept soundly in the blanketed hay.

After all, he’d always lend his jacket to Barbara at her own need for comfort.

Strickler didn’t want to leave his dear Jim alone in the darkening barn, but what was he to do? Doing anything the Underlord didn’t like would result costly towards the rest of his changeling brethren, not to mention the Order. 

One life selfishly over nearly thousands of others only wanting better than they were poorly given. Not a good bargain, if he had to choose.

Logically, they couldn’t bring Jim back to Arcadia’s knowledge because, as a child, they were normally the ones to have things slip. Him knowing trolls and changelings (and whatever else) was so much enough, and even if no one believed him if he babbled upon it, it was a risk they couldn’t take.

And besides, Gunmar would certainly take looking after the child very seriously. How could he ever let Jim go now? Another reason why they shouldn’t. Couldn’t. There were probably other reasons Strickler couldn’t think of right now.

Here was Strickler now, in the empty park, in his thoughts, feeling utterly cold. It wasn’t because of his lack of jacket, either.

“There you are.” Came a voice right behind him, and he started in surprise. Strickler turned his head, seeing the familiar face of his changeling colleague. Nomura, who usually held a tall, esteemed prose, looked almost nervous, and quiet.

“Here I am. How did you know where to find me?” He asked. Nomura didn’t answer that question. He didn’t expect her to.

“Stricklander,” She began after a long moment, thin fingers carefully rubbing her arm. “I… saw the news. I’m sorry about Barb, and… and the kid.”

Strickler, so used to the younger’s snark and bitter remarks, was surprised at how genuine her words were, how soft they were. The tone sounded so unrecognizable, so _un-Nomura-like_ , but he knew of very few instances where this current behavior became so _very_ _Nomura-like_. Still, it was slightly unsettling, so he shook his head.

“Well, you _were_ right on one thing, Nomura. That things with her would only lead to heartbreak.” He eyed her with a sad smile. “Though, this hadn’t been the outcome expected, has it?” He tried to joke, but the woman flinched. He supposed he did too.

Strickler sighed, and again looked straight forward.

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I have a feeling that you didn’t want to see me _just_ to give your condolences.”

The pink-clad changeling nodded slowly, making her way to the side of the bench. “There’s been another finding of a bridge piece, in the Maldives. It’s getting shipped here now.”

Since the destruction of Killahead Bridge (the _second_ time), the previously broken pieces had broken into smaller pieces, and were again spread about the world in different locations than before, at least that was what the Janus Order figured. This would be their sixth piece found since Gunmar’s escape all those decades ago, and if they were lucky it could be bigger than the palm-sized rocks currently found. It all felt like a tiring scavenger hunt, but with less clues and more frustration and ire.

“Good, alright then,” Strickler nodded in turn while absentmindedly, his voice lightly strained. “This is progress. The sooner the Bridge would be rebuilt… again, the sooner Gunmar would have back his army.”

“Indeed,” Nomura murmured, her stark green eyes gleaming. “Should we inform him now?”

“Later. With him getting used to having Jim under his wing now, I think we should need to lay off the news until later.” He ended his sentence with a yawn, and when he opened his eyes he met the appalled gaze of the puzzled young changeling. Ah… had he forgot to mention that detail?

Looking around, he saw they were alone in the park. Still, he stood and led her towards the museum. “...Let me explain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look! plot! maybe? 
> 
> and, after some time figuring out how to put images on here, i did so! go ahead and check out some more of my art ( https://stix-n-bread.tumblr.com/ ) if you’d like! :)
> 
> thank you to those reading! hope it was worth it :D


	4. Field Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk and action of Jim switching locations, and exchanges feat. some of our favorite changelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, oof, a little over two months since i last updated x’D... this chapter’s not as particularly long, but i still hope it’s enjoyable despite the wait :)
> 
> ( chapter includes a slight of grief/mourning, mention of injury, and cursing because nomura )

Three days went by since the incident, two since Jim interacted with Bular with his little ‘lesson’.

Usually for Jim, days went by fairly slowly, but the past few days have been anything but.

Usually for Bular, days went by fairly quickly. The past few days have been anything but.

Only just extremely agonizing. 

The fleshbag was trying his best to spend some time with the Dark Prince, “lessons” going nowhere while he healed. Jim was still trying, though, and that was…  _ not _ admirable, of course not. It was just something to note. A lot still happened in the span of two days.

Bular’s been getting a headache from it— one that would rattle through the hollow stone of his horns and make them feel heavier because of it. He mentioned this to his father but all he’d received was a tired roll of his one eye and a reply of to cease being so difficult and dramatic.

Bular was  _ not _ being difficult, nor dramatic. No.

...Sure, since that small ‘spelling’ interaction with the tiny fleshling, there was something that had indeed  _ changed _ about how he felt about the boy. Only so scarcely, but still undeniable. The innocence of his squishy face that would brighten up whenever given the chance. 

He would have definitely mistaken that child-like happiness as perpetual if he hadn’t known of the events that affected him within the short span of days.

He’d heard faint whimpers coming from inside the barn just last night, and he had only laid in the shelter just outside, silently listening to the boy transition the quiet sounds to muffled sobbing. Bular had been still, and always before did he hear of such noise as so terribly aggravating. Though, then clearly hearing the flesh— Jim succumb to such emotions had made him feel… shockingly less annoyed. Instead, ever so faint the feeling, he had felt a tight twinge in his gut— yet a stronger one in his hearts. It wasn’t long before he witnessed a green blur soar from the distance to the barn’s front, a bright glow to emit as it changed forms, then opening and entering the barn with a speed that had impressed the Dark Prince. Then did he hear the grief-filled wails diminish after each passing second since Stricklander arrived, until it was nearly silent inside, the impure murmuring a song in a soothing voice.

He remembered how his hearts had twinged tighter after that, and felt like they stayed in a constricted way during that whole night until the earliest of dawn peeking. At least that feeling had vanished the moment he saw the changeling emerge from the barn in human form, his normally tall and round hair having either draped around his face or stuck up in strange directions, a sign that he’d also slept the night in the barn. Bular had bellowed in laughter as Stricklander huffed before disappearing from his sight.

He now looked again at the limited reflection seen on his heavily sharpened sword. The eyes faintly staring back at him shared the mirth he had from that morning memory.

“The way you are staring at your blade is making me feel concerned, Your Highness,” The humored voice of his father’s advisor startled him from his thoughts, and he glared at him as the smaller troll continues, “Would it be better if you would like to go spend some time with it  _ alone _ ?”

He’d run the very blade into this troll’s chest if he hadn’t remembered how much his father actually valued him as his own right hand and advisor. Bular couldn’t wait for the day that he’ll forget that fact, and he’d give that smug creature the fate he deserved.

Thankfully about… him (again— what  _ was _ this bastard’s  _ name _ ) was that he’d at least take the hint easily and back off— if only just a few yards. It must be a perk of having so many eyes.

The pale troll cleared his throat as he nervously—  _ good— _ clasped all his hands in front of him as they both faced the fire the rest of the usual group, sans Gunmar, had also been facing. A familiar scene, with its normal lightheartedness.

Bular was surprised no one was again commenting about his father’s very odd choice of the prior days. Either they respected and feared the Dark Lord enough to have any nay-say of it or they were actually fine and casual  _ with _ the idea of him deciding to raise a weak fleshbag child, as implied the other day. But, what was the Dark Prince going to do?  _ Ask _ ?

Going on to continue ignoring everyone else, he went on to study his blade. 

His thoughts had gone back to last night, and again thinking how he heard Jim grieve in the barn before being consoled. Then they led to the night before that, where he remembered how the boy looked at him. How he was eager to teach, as uninformative that experience was, how he showed how to write  _ his _ name in an English language. How Bular then wrote his  _ own _ name.

Jim hadn’t been there to see him do so, but Bular for some reason could imagine the absolute  _ pride _ the boy would express, how his tiny face might have annoyingly adorably contorted to a determination as he’d go to help him learn so many insignificant words until the long long day would become tolerantly passable.

This time, when he again saw his eyes on the reflection of the sharpened metal, he realized he was smiling, but for a different reason.

  * ••



After that rather embarrassing morning, Strickler had brought it upon himself to look again through the potential plans via emails assigned by the Janus Order to locate where other bridge pieces have been thought to be found. The recent one that Nomura mentioned had arrived a little earlier than expected, just before sunset the day before.

After that delivery, he had gone through his few provisions before taking off to the barn again, only arriving when his sharp ears picked up the whimpering noises of his Jim. After entering and comforting the boy through his nightmare, he had felt himself grow exhausted and slept alongside the child for a while before the internal clock of his being woke him before dawn. Of course he was a mess in the morning, but that hadn’t stopped him from caringly treating Jim in any way that he could until leaving and being laughed at by Bular.

The way the boy had reacted overall to the current living space was what he would describe as neutral, but a place like that, he realized, would not fare well for comfortability nor the boy’s mental state itself, with his starting grief and nightmares.

If he wanted Jim to feel the most familiar he could be, he’d give the boy permanent residence in his own house, where he’d been before many times. Unfortunately suggesting this would give Gunmar the idea that Strickler would be putting his total influence onto Jim, or that he’d think he was putting his priority over the fleshbag because he thought the Skullcrusher couldn’t be adequate to keeping his promise. Beside that, Strickler already suspected the Dark Lord being suspicious of him knowing the boy personally.

Instead, he thought about having Jim just temporarily staying in the  _ museum— _ just a few days for the boy to healthily cope before “going back” to his new caretaker. 

Funeral arrangements also had to be made, the date itself only being in a few days from now. He supposed Jim would be allowed to attend his mother’s (and his own).

An entire plan enacted in the changeling’s mind within twenty minutes. It could work.

It was surprisingly not difficult to convince Gunmar to allow the boy to accompany him to the museum. Strickler felt somewhat unperturbed up until the Dark Lord decided to also make a permanent residence in the museum as well, in due time. Thinking of the many fragile and beloved artifacts belonging there, he knew Nomura wouldn’t be so thrilled once she heard of this plan.

So here they were now, the changeling leading the child to the roadway edge by the thick forest.

Jim was reluctant to enter the car, and Strickler couldn’t at all blame him. He did get inside, thankfully without a lot of coaxing. The man threw the blanket on his passenger seat to the child in the back. “Cover yourself up with this. ...It’s a little hard to explain, but you can’t at all be seen until we get to the museum.”

The boy cutely wrinkled his nose before complying. If anyone were to look inside, all they would see was a lump of cloth, hopefully not too suspicious looking. 

_ Hopefully _ ?  _ Surely _ the changeling wasn’t losing his touch of pretense and deceit. But tainted windows can only do so much, so best to keep it safe with whatever he had. Thinking back, he should have brought a Glamour Mask along.

The ride from the edge of the forest to Arcadia’s museum wasn’t too far, but the heat of the morning sun certainly made the hiding child uncomfortable under the unfortunately plush blanket. Still, Strickler was pleased that they were able to get to their destination without much trouble. Conveniently, less traffic today.

Eventually they got to their destination rather quickly, an hour shy from the high school opening its doors for the late start Monday. The car parked in front of the large building.

Jim saw someone walk down the museum steps from its entrance, their head held high with a confident poise, heels clacking on the concrete. He made the notion to hide, as how Mr. Strickler had said so, but his own door was opened by the man as he gestured for him to stand outside. The stranger, clad in a deep pink shirt dress, had since made their way in front of them.

“Jim,” Mr. Strickler started, raising a hand at the newcomer’s direction. “This is an old friend of mine, Ms. Nomura. She’s the museum curator, and one of my coworkers.”

Coworkers? Jim knew Mr. Strickler didn’t work in the museum, did he? Maybe she was one of the teachers in the high school he worked at. 

The boy did notice Ms. Nomura do a perfect roll of her eyes when Mr. Strickler dubbed her an “old friend”.

“Charmed,” She replied lightly, drily. She eyed the boy still wrapped up in the blanket before them, despite the morning heat. “So, you must be the rascal giving the bosses a bit of trouble.”

“ _ They _ were the ones who brought this trouble upon themselves, if we’re going to be honest,” Strickler spoke in return. 

Jim frowned, was  _ he _ really any  _ trouble _ ?

An assuring hand was placed on his shoulder, Strickler noting the child’s discomfort. “We can talk more inside. Atlas, keep that blanket around yourself. You must be as discreet as you can.”

How “discreet” someone could be when stepping up the museum’s stairs while wearing what seemed like an oversized hooded poncho— though thankfully just like the earlier traffic there was scarcely anyone about the large building.

Mondays were when the museum usually closed, other than the scattered days that they also do so whenever  _ business _ was involved, so it especially made this entrance even more relieving. 

Through the museum doors, Strickler allowed Jim to drop his ‘hood’. 

“It really was shocking to hear that Gunmar decided to… adopt him,” The curator mentioned. “The Order’s going to have a  _ blast _ with this, if you didn’t already inform them.”

“Not yet. And Bular wasn’t exactly  _ thrilled _ , as expected,” Strickler added. “Though I  _ must _ tell you that Jim’s been trying to—“

“Mr. Strickler?” The boy in question tugged on the man’s sleeve questioningly. “How come you and Ms. Nomura know about the trolls even though they said no other human must know about them?”

The woman eyed the taller changeling as they continued to stroll. “You haven’t told him?”

He sighed. “I did, but, he didn't believe me.” 

Nomura snickered. “Damn.”

“He  _ did _ see that other form earlier before that, alas,” He admitted, tone faux rueful. This time his coworker’s amused reaction was louder.

“ _ Damn _ . If I saw your muppet-looking ass for the first time and then you told me that was  _ you _ , I’d believe that in a  _ heartbeat _ .”

He glared at her before then rolling his eyes. “The difference between you and someone with  _ tact _ , I’d believe.”

“Wait, that was  _ really _ you?” Piped up the voice that made the adults remember the child in their midst. Strickler looked down at those, while still a little doubtful, wonder-filled eyes.

Strickler shot a smile to Jim. “Yes, it really was. Like I’ve said, I am a changeling. Nomura is one too, and we… work for them,” The hesitation went unnoticed by Jim, which he found himself a little thankful for.

“Can you turn into a troll now?” The child said, now rather excitedly. Strickler sighed as he helped Jim stand straight when he swayed again.

“...Not now, Atlas. I still don’t want to invoke too much excitement with your condition.” He saw the boy’s crestfallen look and quickly added, “And that’s also why you’re here. To help you feel better and to make you feel more comfortable in a more, well,  _ familiar _ environment.”

“I never been to the museum before, though,” Jim pointed out.

“Yes, but I can’t bring you to my house because… there will be a suspicion if I’m found raising a child that’s supposedly disappeared,” Which actually  _ was _ true, Strickler didn’t want to talk of Gunmar right now. “So, at least  _ this _ is a more modern human establishment. Away from the barn, until we get to a point where you go back to those trolls, understand?”

Jim nodded slightly, before looking back up with those wide eyes. “Wait, so— I got to fake my death, kinda? And no one’s supposed to know I’m okay?”

“I suppose you did.”

“Okay,” The boy thought for a moment. “This is kinda cool. It’s like that one scene from  _ Gun Robot _ .”

Strickler let out a snort, but then Nomura commented, “There was  _ no _ scene like this from  _ Gun Robot _ .”

“ _ You _ watched  _ Gun Robot _ ?” The man asked.

She crossed her arms. “You shut the hell up. I know  _ you _ watched it too.”

“I’ve helped raise a child, of course I watched it. I didn’t expect it to be of  _ your _ tastes.”

“ _ Gun Robot _ is cool, though,” Jim interrupted, smiling up at Nomura. “So you got  _ awesome _ taste!”

The woman looked at him for a moment before pointing a sharp finger down at him. “You know, I like your judgement, kid.”

Strickler would’ve snarked something back if he hadn’t seen the beaming look on the boy’s face from the little compliment. A soft smile had overtaken his own features from it. 

“Hey,” Came the clear voice of his coworker, followed by a few whistles. “You look cute with that dopey look. Don’t you have a class to attend?”

Suddenly remembering that he had another job, and that he was supposed to be there in less than an hour, he barely stopped himself from cursing out loud and knelt to Jim’s level. “I have to go to work now, I’ll be back later in a few hours.”

He heard Nomura make a mocking “ick” after he swiftly pecked the boy’s bandaged forehead. He was fine with  _ her _ seeing the closeness he had with this human, as long as she wouldn’t rat him showing his affection to Bular or Gunmar.

“Be good to Ms. Nomura, or actually, you can annoy her for me!” He laughed as he went back to the entrance.

“I agreed to this by a small  _ margin _ .” She called back, evident scowl in her tone. “Don’t you dare fuck  _ that _ up!”

His response was another loving goodbye at Jim’s direction, blissfully ignoring her words.

Shaking her head, she focused her attention to the boy only to find him gazing up at her with furrowed brows. “What’s on your mind, kid.”

The furrow went deeper and more exaggerated on his cute face. “You said some  _ bad _ words.”

Nomura stared blankly back right before letting out a groan. This was probably going to turn out to be a long afternoon.

  * ••



After school and swiftly grading some papers (and then sending a collective email apology of the slow grading to his students and their parents), Strickler made his way back to the museum. 

Using his own key he entered the building, and he found Nomura tending to one of the exhibits, the soft notes of Grieg filling the room in the otherwise quiet place.

“You’re back,” She commented without turning around. “Surprisingly the kid wasn’t so difficult at all. He just went to sleep after an hour.”

He raised a brow. “Where is he now?”

“In storage,” She said rather offhandedly that had Strickler raising both brows. He left the scene rather quickly to check.

When Nomura heard him return a short while later she turned to meet him, only to see a certain smugness in his eyes that she so very loathed.

“Oh, how  _ comfy _ he looked. The pillow was a nice touch.”

The woman had enough control to keep herself from looking even the slightest bit flustered. “I’m not just going to let a child drool over those crates. The pillow was a barrier.”

“Mhm. How would you explain the tucked in blanket?”

Her indifferent mask  _ did _ slide this time, but before she could muster up a retort there came a dramatic opening of the museum’s doors, and a loud voice to add:

“ _ Guten tag, dummköpfe _ !”

A plump man stood at the front where he made his loud entrance. He took off his dark trilby as he then quickly strode over to the two. 

“Otto?” Nomura was the first to speak, thin brows raising in clear surprise with the distraction. “What are you doing here? The Maldives piece came in yesterday.”

“Clearly you understand I don’t come here on mein own vacation days,” Otto Scaarbach waved his hand. “It gets  _ very _ hot here, did you know that? How do Americans  _ stand _ it?”

“Otto.”

“Sorry!” The German stated, clearly  _ not _ sorry for his starting of ramblings. “I didn’t go with das Maldives piece excavation—  _ but _ , I  _ did _ come with more news from das Philippines!” 

Nomura crossed her arms. “What is it?” 

He only grinned cheekily at her, normal stern disposition giving away to tease the younger changeling. “Aww, I thought you’d be more excited for this,  _ Freundin _ .”

No excitement could be traced at all on her face. Otto waited a beat before shrugging and getting on with it. 

“ _ Any _ way— there have been  _ three _ more pieces found, both good considerable sizes!” Then the polymorph pulled, out of nowhere, a briefcase from behind him, grinning. “Vat a better surprise it vould be that I announced it in person.”

His fellow changelings stared with wide eyes into the case’s contents when it opened. “And a  _ good afternoon _ to you too, Otto,” Strickler spoke, still staring down incredulously.

Indeed, each of the rocks were a fist’s size each— not as gloriously big as the ones they recovered when they tried rebuilding Killahead the  _ first _ time, but now their smaller size made the steps toward their goal even more precious.

The three now discussed for a while before suddenly a discussion between the three of them became a discussion between two of them, Nomura and Otto then quarreling about something minor. 

Oh, how  _ familiar _ that sight was… when they were much  _ much _ younger and  _ not _ adults.

“I’m surrounded by children,” Strickler drawled, glaring at the both.

The two stopped their bickering, Nomura rolling her eyes. “Just bring the new kid here, and  _ then _ should your statement be true.”

Now Otto looked at the woman again, all teasing gone replaced with genuine curiousness. “‘New kid’? Has another changeling been appointed? I didn’t think that vould happen again for a while.”

Strickler gave Nomura a glance before relaying all that had happened, a long story short but enough to get to the major details from the accident to now the child’s current stay in this museum.

As expected, the polymorph doubled down into a fit of laughter after the rundown— a small chuckle coming from Nomura adding to his mirth.

While Otto laughed, Strickler thought back to when Bular gruffly mentioned that Dictatious also laughed like this so disbelievingly when finding out about the boy. Maybe if he pointed out that the German had that similarity to Gunmar’s advisor, he’d shut up immediately. Though already, Otto died it down with a few chuckles escaping his lips.

He had to wipe the tears from his eyes before speaking, still in subtle giggles. 

“Oh! I vas  _ not _ expecting  _ that _ ! This will be  _ most _ amusing!”

“Well. You  _ do _ believe it?”

“Of course I do!  _ None _ of your jokes are this funny.”

“Ouch”, Strickler deadpanned. 

Otto continued to grin before his demeanor changed, dipping his head a little. “Very sorry to hear about Miss Barbara. Ve all know how much she meant to you.”

Strickler only nodded at the other man’s surprising condolences— first Nomura, now  _ Otto _ seemed to show some genuine vulnerability when first hearing the news. The Earth might as well have switched axises.

“That,” He cleared his throat after his voice threatened to fully crack, “is all now in the past. The funeral is early next week, and now Jim is needing to be cared for.” And it was a terrible shame that he wouldn’t take full custody of the boy, Gunmar had very well made his decision.

Remembering something else, he turned his focus to the curator. “By the way,  _ good _ news; Gunmar plans to make a later residence in the museum. You’d better be prepared when the time comes.”

Snapped from the somber mood, Nomura blinked before setting an icy glare to her colleague. “‘Good news’ my  _ ass _ . I don’t suppose  _ you _ had any say with that suggestion?”

“No,” Strickler replied honestly, “This was his idea. It could be to stay closer to the Order, wouldn’t you think?”

“And the bridge,” The woman added, more to herself, thoughtfully.

Otto hummed. “Perhaps to also get away from that dusty old barn. From das shape of it, it could no longer serve as good shelter in a few years,  _ ja _ ?” The other two changelings couldn’t help but agree.

Still, Nomura’s eyes had narrowed. “Then what if he decides to bring along that little entourage of his? 

“Gunmar vould be smarter than that,” The polymorph countered. “Too many Gumm-Gumms in a human public building isn’t exactly  _ ideal _ to keep das secrecy.”

“...What if he brings only Bular? You remember his stay here, don’t you?” Silence was the answer as the changelings remembered how so much more  _ tedious _ ( _ barely _ the right word) their workings have been when the Dark Prince reigned in this building, until he went with Gunmar for the outside shelter of that barn; it was for his want to stay near his father, and if the Underlord decided to take some time here there was no guarantee that his son wouldn’t follow.

“That… was not a happy time, no,” Strickler said at last. He pressed a knuckle to his chin, slightly thoughtful. “...The next thing you would know, Gunmar might decide to take residence  _ in _ the Janus Order.”

Another few seconds of silence, before Otto spoke up, rather thoughtful also, “Vell, I vouldn’t be so opposed to  _ that _ idea…”

  
There was a growing silence that contrasted how _loud_ his wistful look looked.

Catching that and the specific tone, Nomura made a face at the then tittering man. “Good  _ gods _ , Scaarbach.”

Strickler shook his head, also catching the taken tone. “An interesting turn  _ this _ conversation has gone into. I believe my ears hear Jim calling me from storage,” He lied, already turning away from the other two.

“ _ Don’t leave me here _ ,” The woman droned at his retreating figure. Seeing him abandon the conversation at learning of their coworker’s little infatuation with their terrible  _ boss _ , she spoke, rather darkly, “Would it be mature of me if I blew a raspberry at his back?”

Otto stopped his chuckles and leaned closer to her. “I can do it for you, if you value your reputation  _ that _ much.”

He still did it without hearing an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was more about dad!strickler and changeling interaction than jim’s growing bonds with bular and gunmar, but i found that as an excuse to experiment how i can have these other characters interact with each other 
> 
> otto is a thirsty bitch, no wonder he despises dictatious
> 
> thank you for the read and hope this was worth the wait! to those who somehow have a chapter/separate new story up every/every other week or so, HUGE respect for you <3

**Author's Note:**

> i know i haven’t gone into a lot of detail with how exactly gunmar was able to get out early/the events that led to kanjigar actually deciding to open it/how the bridge got broken again, i’m stiiiillllll trying to figure that out lol. apologies to that vagueness
> 
> hope this was enjoyable so far anyway! comments would be widely appreciated :)


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